


Weightless: One-Shots

by bellinaball



Series: Weight [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Future Fic, Sequel, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellinaball/pseuds/bellinaball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unwilling to leave the Weight of the World/Weightless universe behind, I'm writing one-shots here and there. These will jump around in their character focus, timeline, rating, dramatic style, etc. I honestly have no idea how many I'll do, all told!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Teaching Moment

**November 23, 2010**

"Just back it up," Sue Sylvester ordered the FedEx driver as he struggled with his delivery. "I had a loading dock installed." Soon she was signing off on the packing slip for an explosion of Sue-centered items: copies of her inspirational and generously instructive book, tracksuits freshly returned from their dry cleaning in Bulgaria, and several prototype models for an action figure she would soon propose to Mattel.

"What?" she asked the driver as he still stood on the dock.

"Sorry, lady," he grimaced as he rubbed the small of his back. "That was a lot of boxes, I think I—"

"You have thirty seconds to be nothing more than a pair of taillights in my extremely distant vision before I call your supervisor." She smirked when he began stammering. "Of course I know your supervisor. I know everyone's supervisor. This is my town, and until I trade it in for a better one like turning a Yugo in for an Eagle, I'm in control."

She had no idea who his supervisor was, but that mattered little. It was worth it to see the flash of fear move across his face. Sue was pleased with herself when he fled and left her free to slit open boxes. That pleasure died abruptly when she began rummaging through the action figures and found it missing a key component. There was no contract. Without that contract in hand, that no-account sculptor was free to use her appearance in other venues. She was almost certain those venues would be pornographic.

When the doorbell rang insistently and Sue dragged herself to it, she snatched the special delivery away from the mailman. "Idiot," she muttered when she saw an envelope from the artist. Presumably it held the contract, and he'd realized he'd forgotten to put it in the FedEx box. "Not you," she clarified when he looked offended. "Well, probably you, too."

Eying her, he shoved the rest of her mail at her and walked back to his truck. Sue set it aside and returned to the boxes filled with celebrations of herself.

It was well into evening when she finally felt content with her assessment of the day's delivery. She let her attention turn to more mundane things. On the top of the stack of mail sat bills. She could see restaurant delivery menus under that. Grumbling at the outrageous waste of her time, Sue began flinging each piece of new mail across her foyer. Her maid would analyze each one, return the ones that contained something worth notice, and dispose of the rest.

A piece of obvious fan mail had sloppy penmanship on the front and she tossed that as well. A familiar return address made her smirk, but Sue didn't bother reading the likely death threat from one of her biggest rivals. Her mouth twisted into a scowl when another piece of fan mail was sent on a _postcard_. She deserved a full-price stamp. And Iowa was her forty-eighth least favorite state; there was no chance she would ever 'Visit Beautiful Des Moines.'

It was pure chance that, as she moved to flip it like a throwing card across the room, the postcard's back came into view. There were few words on it and so they were large and easily seen.

 _Thank you for calling me someone. –Kurt_

Instead of flying across the room, the card fell to the floor from numb fingers. Sue stared at it as she felt her head begin to pound. She had armor like few people ever managed, she had carefully killed nearly every warm fuzzy feeling within her, and she should illustrate the antonym section under 'sentimental.'

And normally, that would all hold true. She simply hadn't expected to see those words. Few things took her by surprise.

Very slowly, she reached down and plucked the card off the floor.

Everything was slow and strange as she reread the words. The world suddenly failed to make sense, which was impossible. The world bent around Sue Sylvester's whims; it didn't dare operate in any manner that might _confuse_ her. Her mind flashed back to a special report on the news. Violence on a snowy highway filled her vision when she picked up the phone and dialed one of the few numbers she knew by heart. Normally, it was for prank calls. Not that night.

"William," Sue said as he answered.

"Sue?" Will replied, sounding annoyed. "Whatever you're planning, it can wait until after Sectionals."

"Get over here."

"Seriously? No." But she repeated her command and her voice cracked in the middle of it. He hesitated before asking, "Why?"

"Just get over here," she ordered and hung up.

It took ten minutes to drive between their homes. He took more than twenty to arrive, having likely spent time pacing before setting off. Will Schuester didn't want to appear to be at Sue Sylvester's beck and call, that much was clear. At the same time, his curiosity was obviously piqued. He was leaning against the doorframe and looked unimpressed when she answered the bell. "Well?"

"Come in," Sue said and walked into her home. He took a few seconds to follow. Dramatically annoyed sighs marked his progress.

"I told a neighbor where I was going," Will informed her as she led him to the living room. "If you're trying to kidnap me before Sectionals, it's not going to work. Believe me, with all the... turbulence that's happened recently, I'm taking extra steps to make sure nothing else goes wrong."

She didn't say anything and his interest seemed to grow. "And I'm not eating anything," he added. "In case you're trying to mess with me right before Thanksgiving. So much for any plans to give me food poisoning. And I don't have any allergies." He frowned when she sat down and stared at the coffee table, and finally ventured asking, "So... why did you call me, Sue?"

For an answer she plucked the postcard off the table and held it out to him. Will took it, blinked uncomprehendingly at the front picture, and then turned it over. He was absolutely still and silent as he read the words what must have been a half-dozen times.

When Will sat next to Sue on the couch, neither of them said anything for a very long time.

"It was Jacob's blog," Will finally said to break the silence. "I heard from the kids that he was following what was posted there. I guess you must have said that on one of the videos. I mean, I'm assuming you didn't go over to visit."

No. She hadn't. Sue visited her sister and no one else. She certainly didn't visit students, no matter what happened to them. Besides, stepping onto that family's property could earn jail time, as could making a call. She wasn't about to risk it.

At her lack of response, Will seemed compelled to continue the conversation on his own. "They made me good-bye videos, both of them. Since the whole family was leaving. Both Finn and K-Kurt, I mean. Did they make anything for you?" He looked at her, determined her stony silence to mean 'no,' and continued, "Well, their friends went over to say goodbye before they left. And they were all from Glee, so I think it was just kind of natural to think of me. I don't think he meant anything by not making one for you. It's not that you were _friendly_ with him, but...."

Sue plucked the postcard from Will's hands and traced the thick, heavy ballpoint lines with her fingertips.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard," Will finally said when they'd both sat in another stretch of uncomfortable silence. "Rachel called me. Finn told all the kids, and it was like they didn't know what to do. And there's nothing you _can_ do. But I guess they figured if some adults couldn't do anything to help, they'd try the others they knew." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I would've called you, but it hit the news after that. I guess I figured you saw."

She had, and firsthand. She'd just finished up a Sue's Corner segment and was relaxing at her desk as the anchors took over. A yearbook picture with a familiar face was suddenly on the monitors. After a stab of concern that he was dead, Sue learned something far worse had happened. It was always mildly interesting to local journalists when someone was collared, as it was so rare, but the reason Kurt was on the news was his age. That idiot Rod Remington confirmed that being found that late was highly remarkable. As Sue sat there, pulse pounding in her ears as they described the capture and shipment to a training facility, only one thought managed to coalesce: _please don't remember that I took him to Nationals._

If they had, they would have turned the camera back to her and expected a statement. She only would have stared back into it.

It was several days before Sue managed to say anything to the people around her, or particularly wanted to. No one noticed. There was some attention later that summer from the cheerleading community, as the people there put together the pieces of how soon after Nationals the collaring had occurred. They wanted McKinley's win investigated and competition footage analyzed; some were convinced that she'd somehow hid his condition.

No: its condition.

Sue had never given much thought to the Angel trade, as she hadn't wanted one for herself. They were like pets, she'd always assumed, and she didn't have time for animals. With her awareness suddenly raised, she began to process what really went on and was quietly sick. She didn't mind hurting people. She _liked_ hurting people. But with the memory of a childhood spent looking after her sister, she was left hating every word that said a student she'd mentored wasn't a person.

It had been a bad summer. She assumed Will had talked to his little tomato-headed Freud in a cardigan and sensible heels, but Sue only had Jean. As much as she loved her, Sue wanted someone from school to ask how she was doing. Jean had never seen those ridiculous outfits walking down the hall and so wouldn't understand what it meant to know they would never return. So she didn't really talk to her sister about it, she didn't talk to any of the other faculty, and of course she didn't talk to any of Kurt's friends. Occasionally she would see news footage where some celebrity was accompanied by a quiet, broken figure in a gold collar, but all Sue could do was change the channel.

Then he came back and she didn't have to _think_ and _feel_ any more. She just had to fix things so they were exactly the same as before.

Except that she couldn't.

He still wasn't a person. Figgins called him 'it.' Boys who had once slammed him unthinkingly into lockers like pushing open a door... they doled out the worst violence that town had ever seen. No one cared that they'd hurt him; the town only cared that those boys' lives weren't ruined.

Sue made her squad cry that week. She worked them so hard that four Cheerios threw up from exhaustion before they could make it to a trashcan or toilet. When she saw students signing notes of affection to the boys in the hospital, she tore apart their appearance, dress, parentage... whatever came to mind. Possessions were destroyed. Egos were bruised. Figgins told her to stop making a bad situation worse. So did Emma; she added on a bit of editorializing about how she knew Sue was a terrible person, but to _please_ try to control herself until the student body had worked through the worst of their grief.

"Sue?" Will gently asked. "You've just kind of been... zoning out while I've been talking."

She reached out and picked up the postcard. It wasn't just the picture on the front; the postmark was really from Iowa. "He left."

"Yeah. You didn't know?" Will hesitantly asked.

"There were conflicting reports after the kidnapping," Sue said shortly. "I didn't know if he was alive." No one had told her. Will knew, apparently.

"He made it," Will said. "And his whole family moved away."

"Where?"

"I don't know," Will admitted. "I think some of the kids do, but they're not saying anything. Only that it's somewhere with hardly any people." He looked at the picture of Iowa. "And I guess they were driving west." He watched her for a while, and then asked, "So, what are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"About... about _everything_ , Sue. This is the sort of time when people look inside themselves and change for the better." He faltered. "I know I needed to," Will quietly added. "When I look back on what I was encouraging my students to do... I had no idea. I just never thought about it."

"You want to see a big change?" Sue asked thinly. "Then talk to someone who didn't hear about all of this on the news. Talk to someone who got a goodbye," she added with more bitterness than she intended. Will Schuester had done nothing but yell at students in the hallways; Sue had actively _fought_ to get restrictions overturned. She went for results, not warm and fuzzy feelings. She at least deserved to have some appreciation shown.

"What do you call this?" Will asked as he flicked his finger against the side of the postcard. Sue instinctively grabbed it back, lest it bend, and he smiled. "I'm sorry," he continued. "I should have talked to you over the summer. I was just so torn up about everything that I didn't process you'd be the same way."

"I don't need your help, William. Not unless—"

"I know, I know. You're about to insult my hair." He pointed at the hall. "I have to run by Walmart later, anyway. I could pick up a photo frame if you want."

"And why would I want that?" Sue asked.

"So you don't have to worry about that postcard getting bent."

She looked down and didn't respond.

"I'll be back later with it," Will said. "And I'll email you the video Tina made. It's short, but you know... it's something." He hesitated as he turned to leave. "It's a much better image to have in your head than what was on the news that night."

Sue didn't offer a reply and he didn't wait for one. When she heard the door close she allowed her fingers to once again trace the words on the card. 'West' had a lot of possibilities. She doubted she'd ever learn that family's destination.

Her maid hesitantly cleared her throat and Sue realized she'd been trying to get her attention for some time. "Do not throw this away," Sue said as she held up the postcard. "Ever."

"All right," she said uncertainly. "Ah, a fax came for you while I was cleaning up the mail? Here you go," she said as she shakily handed it over.

Sue grabbed it from her and studied the words there. With the tumult at McKinley, she was being asked to return to her intermittent Sue's Corner role. They felt as if she would have an insider's perspective on the students' behavior at that school and asked that she resume her commentary for the next three weeks. Particularly with their... regrettable decision to run unauthorized images of the Angel, they were very interested in being able to discuss the situation without the need for pictures. Her personal knowledge would help with that.

A slow smile grew. "I might be able to do that," Sue said to herself as she wondered if those idiots at the television station had any idea what they'd just asked her to do. She carefully set aside the postcard. As much as she hated to admit it, Will's idea was a good one; it would be reassuring to have the card protected under glass. With a dramatic flourish she reached for a notepad, a pen, and uncapped the pen with her teeth.

"I've been asked to talk about what happened at William McKinley," Sue jotted down. "With the understanding that I possess a far more insightful view into the situation than any halfwit built out of hairspray and tiger tattoos can muster." Her gaze flicked to the postcard and lingered for a few seconds. When she looked back, Sue was smiling. "And so that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to tell you all what happened before they hurt someone."

She could hear the concerned comments now, and they'd try to get her to change things. Some _thing_.

Forget that. She was Sue Sylvester. She didn't listen to copyedits.

"Let me tell you some stories," Sue continued. Her pencil danced over the page. "About a person."


	2. Let Your Fingers Do the Walking

**March 6, 2011**

"Oh baby," Finn said uncertainly into the phone. "I'm going to touch you?"

Silence first greeted him. Then he heard Santana ask, "Is that a _question_?"

"Yes? ...I don't know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out in person." He could hear her snort in annoyance, and then readjust her position on the bed. "Look, just pretend you're actually here and we're making out like before. Just narrate what you're doing. Like you're filming lions on the Serengeti or whatever and this is a National Geographic special."

"Can they be wolves?" Finn asked after some thought. "Wolves are cool, I heard some last night."

"I really don't give a shit so long as you don’t turn this into some Twilight werewolf roleplay." She adjusted her position again and he heard a faint buzzing. "It's a vibrator," she confirmed when he asked.

Finn blushed. "Um, really? I didn't know you buy that kind of stuff."

She harrumphed. "Do you even know me? Were you paying attention? Ugh. Just start with the narration and I'll pick up the slack on my end."

"Okay," he began hesitantly. "I take my hand and touch your... um...."

"Say it."

He whispered into the phone, "I touch your boob."

Her voice was throaty when she replied, "You like that? Yeah. I do. I can feel your fingers on top of my bra. It's lace on top, so it's rough against your skin. Too rough, so I reach up under my shirt and take it off. Then your hand is right against my tit. My nipple's getting hard as you—"

"Whoa, whoa," Finn gulped as he felt his sudden erection press painfully against his jeans. "Can we take this a little slower?"

"Right, because you're about to blow your load." He could _see_ her annoyed expression. The embarrassment pulled him back from the edge, at least. "Okay. You pull back your hand and just watch me undress. I'm really getting undressed, Finn. My bra's already on the floor. I'm pulling off my shirt. It's chilly. Pretty soon I'll want you on top of me to warm me up."

Groaning, he fumbled for his fly and began to carefully pull down the zipper. He couldn't wait any longer to touch himself, even though he knew it would end things all too soon, and sighed with relief when the insistent pressure on his cock vanished. He, grinning, began to stroke himself, but the distraction soon made the phone fall away from his shoulder, rebound off the mattress, and land on the floor.

"Finn?" he heard Santana's tinny voice ask. "What was that?"

It was awkward retrieving the phone, as he'd already pushed his jeans and boxers nearly to his knees. "Um, I dropped the phone."

"Oh my God. I'm assuming this is a cell phone?"

"No, main house line," he said.

"Wow, you're using a phone anyone could pick up? Living dangerously." As he processed that and paled, Santana continued, "Well, the bonus there is that you can put it on speaker phone. I'm guessing you're alone if you're using that line."

"Good idea," Finn said happily and began fumbling with the set. "Okay, can you still hear me?" he asked once he was confident with his chosen settings. Santana's still-tinny voice said she could, and so with her instructions he quickly shucked the rest of his clothes and stretched back out on top of his bed. "Now what?"

"Still hard?"

He looked at the erection jutting toward the ceiling. "Yep."

"I'm straddling your legs. You want me to move forward and start riding you, but I hold off. Or maybe you want me to lean forward and start sucking you. And I lean forward so slowly you almost can't take it...." As Santana's words purred out of the speakers, Finn groaned and wrapped his hand around his cock. His thumb circled the head and he tried to fight between his desperate need for friction versus the desire to not have this end before it began. Like she could see his struggle, Santana continued lightly, "But then I pull back and get off you, no matter how bad you want it. Take your hand off yourself, Finn."

He whined, but did as ordered.

"I move up the bed. I'm going to straddle you again. And you realize I'll be over your face."

"Whoa," Finn said as that sank in.

"Tell me what you're doing to me, Finn."

"Okay," he gulped. "I, um, stick out my tongue."

He heard the buzzing start again and tried not to think too hard on what that meant. "And what do you do next, baby?" she sighed.

"I take my tongue and, uh, put it in...." His voice dropped to a stage whisper. "Put it in your vagina."

"...Okay, we can work with that."

"And I lick you. I lick you inside your, um, vagina. And then I get your clit and it feels really good."

She was quiet for a second. "Wait, what?"

Convinced she hadn't heard him, Finn said more clearly, "I lick you inside your vagina and on your clit."

"Oh my God!"

In a horrible, seemingly endless moment, Finn realized that wasn't Santana's voice. He turned his head very slowly and saw Kurt staring at him from the door he'd pushed silently open. "You're supposed to be outside," Finn finally said. Kurt let out a tiny squeak, and then stared fixedly at his shoes. That break in their mutual stare gave Finn the chance to process that he was entirely naked and fully aroused where he lay, and with a squeak of his own he grabbed for the nearest blanket and shoved it over his crotch.

"Please tell me Kurt just walked in on you," Santana giggled over the speaker. "Oh my God please tell me I'm not just imagining the funniest thing ever."

"Are you having phone sex with Santana?" Kurt said with disgust as he looked back up. "Seriously? This isn't even our own house! This is not proper guest etiquette! And didn't you break up?"

"I got bored," Santana said, and Finn shrugged helplessly at Kurt.

"I was going to ask if you wanted hot chocolate," Kurt said with an expression of absolute betrayal. "With _marshmallows._ "

"Aww," Santana crooned. Kurt glared at the speaker, then Finn. Finn prayed to drop through the floor.

"Look," Finn whispered, "that new school is tiny. And I'm already the weird new guy from a big city—"

"Lima's a 'big city?'" Kurt repeated dubiously.

Finn glared at him, because that was so not the point. "I don't have a new truck yet, so my _mom_ drops me off, and I couldn't bring over a girl here anyway. So, yes. I'm having phone sex with Santana. Deal with it. And _knock._ "

"I'm having a talk with Miss Lopez," Kurt decided, and shot Finn a glower that said very clearly that he should stay out of it. After stomping over to the far side of the room he snapped, "Santana, what are you doing? Like I said, didn't you break up?"

"Oh, like that's ever stopped me."

"And your relationship was a total sham from the start!"

"...Again, like that's ever stopped me." The buzzing sound intensified and a groan escaped her.

Kurt made a horrified face at the distinctly feminine pleasure, and then narrowed his eyes. "You're not even thinking about him, are you?"

Santana paused, like she didn't want to say her next words where Finn could hear. "Is he still there?"

"Yes. Spill anyway."

"Oh." Another pause preceded her saying, "Yeah, okay, I've been tuning Finn out. Until he just got too stupid and I couldn't handle it any more. Did you know he thinks the clit is _inside_?"

Finn shrugged helplessly at Kurt and was heartened when Kurt shrugged back.

"So if you're not thinking of Finn while you're doing unspeakable things to yourself, then why are you bothering to call him?" Kurt wondered as he glanced between the phone and bed. "And... and Finn, please adjust that blanket," he said with a fixed stare at a far corner of the room. Finn turned deep red and moved the material where it was bunched over his midsection.

She didn't reply immediately. Only when Kurt snippily prodded at her did her voice return. "He's like some mystery man at this school, now."

"I'm Austin Powers?" Finn asked. "But he's all hairy."

"I'm pretty sure it should be physically impossible for me to have a headache, so I would _love_ to know how you two are giving me one," Kurt groaned. "Santana. Explain."

"I just like, you know... the idea of talking to someone who's off in hiding and being funded by billionaires. I don't care that it's _Finn_ , it just makes me feel like Sydney Bristow."

Finn didn't know who that was, and Kurt's face scrunched up in confusion. "Wait, from Alias? Didn't that show end, like, five years ago?"

"I got all the DVDs," Santana said. "Have you watched Jennifer Garner writhing around in leather catsuits? Totally worth the money."

"You don't care that it's me?" Finn asked morosely. He felt so used.

"We didn't care who the other person was when we were _dating_ , because it made us more popular," she pointed out. "And now you get to imagine someone as smoking hot as me going down on you while—"

"You imagine Jennifer Garner going down on you, we get it," Kurt said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Finn pictured that and had to adjust his blanket again.

There was another long pause. "No, I said I wanted to _be_ Sydney."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." She began to protest and Kurt snorted inelegantly. "Oh come on, Lopez, I was there when Brittany said the two of you were doing it."

"No you weren't."

Finn moved his blanket again and let out a soft moan at the feeling of the fabric brushing against him. Kurt gawked and there was another pause on the speaker. When Santana finally spoke back up and asked if the two of them had started something, he blushed so deeply that his shoulders reddened.

"No, no, this is hot," she promised them. "Kurt, you okay with sex stuff now? Good," she continued when he only stared at the phone and didn't immediately shut her down. "Okay, Finn, undo the buttons on his shoulders. Don't touch the wings yet, but tell me what you're doing. I'll let you know when to—"

"Oh my God!" Kurt almost wailed. He shot a disgusted look at the phone, a betrayed one at Finn, and then made some high-pitched noise that was probably supposed to be outrage and left the room.

"Did he just strangle a cat or something?" Santana asked. "This sucks. We need to use video next time. I can't tell anything that's going on there." Finn stared unhappily at the ceiling as she made plans for directing them in front of a camera. Or maybe Finn could just hold the camera and she could tell Kurt what to do. Yeah, that was a way better plan. Or maybe Finn could just be out of the room altogether.

"I'm going to hang up now, Santana," Finn said in a monotone as he lay there and felt his erection steadily fail.

"Do you think he could carry me? If he lost that weight... do you think the two of us now would weigh less than when he started? Because then I bet he could carry me. That'd be hot." The buzzing increased in volume.

"I'm going to hang up now," Finn repeated and threw a pillow at the phone. He wondered who she was thinking of. Jennifer Garner in a leather catsuit. Or Kurt. Or... or Kurt in a leather catsuit.

That was weird.

"I think you missed," Santana's muffled voice said from where the phone had fallen to the floor.

"Thanks."

"Just trying to be helpful."


	3. A Walled Garden

**May 3, 2011**

Once Kurt would have thought of labels like 'cerulean' only to describe outfits walking down a runway. Fashion was, by necessity, a diminished part of his life. Too much material was impossible for him to alter, and other clothing was fine for a suburban high school but pointlessly fragile for the tasks ahead of him.

The beauty around him more than made up for his restrained outfit. He was at the edge of a clearing on a grassy hillside, with trees and a mountain above him and a broad green valley below. Wildflowers dappled the ground. And on a branch just a few feet away, looking at him curiously as it tilted its head, was a tiny bird that he could only call cerulean.

"A mountain bluebird," Finn decided as he looked up from his phone. He'd held onto the thing—and its Wikipedia browser homepage—like a lifeline as he tried to make sense of the new world around him. Animals roamed their land, different food was for sale in the grocery stores. Even the air seemed different there up high in the west: thinner and drier.

"Back up a few steps," Kurt mused and held out his hand to that inquiring bird. A small laugh escaped him as it fluttered onto his extended finger. "Hello."

"You have got to be kidding me," Finn drawled. Kurt turned to frown at him, but Finn still looked dryly amused.

"What? It's pretty."

"Yeah, sure. And it also just flew down onto your finger."

Kurt shrugged and turned back to the bird, which chirped occasionally at him. His smile earned another few notes. "Well, think of how Hercules suddenly adored me. I must smell trustworthy."

"Do birds smell?" Finn asked, and then grinned. "You probably just look trustworthy."

"Oh, quiet," Kurt said and lifted his hand until the bird was level with his eyes. One high, clear note from him sent the bird into a paroxysm of excitement. A full song followed while Kurt watched, enraptured.

Then he realized Finn was filming them. "Okay," Finn giggled. "Now you have to—"

"What is so funny?" Kurt interrupted.

"Dude," Finn said like it was painfully self-obvious, "you have birds landing on you and singing. _You are a Disney princess._ "

Kurt's jaw set.

"So now you have to sing back," Finn said, still giggling. "Come on. People'll totally love this. I'm doing video diaries for everyone. Come on," he wheedled.

Grumbling, Kurt waved his hand in a grand arc until the bird flew away, and then started stalking down the hillside. "No!" he told Finn when Finn followed him, his cell phone still held high as he pleaded for Kurt to sing to some adorable little animal. "I am not going to be 'a Disney princess' in the first video you send to everyone."

"But the bird flew right to you," Finn whined, but eventually put his camera away and hurried to make up the distance between them. "Come on, man. All we've been doing recently is building and it is _boring._ Now we have this whole mountain, practically, and I dunno what we're even supposed to do with it." He shoved his arm in front of Kurt's chest, forcing him to stop, and squinted at the house in the distance. "Race you," he said impishly, and then took off at a run without waiting for a response.

Oh, _that_ was fair, with those giant legs of Finn's. And that, of course, was probably all he'd thought about. Smirking a little, Kurt let him get well ahead and watched Finn's form get smaller in his vision. Just a little further, and a little further yet....

When he shot past him just five feet off the ground, the rush of air nearly knocked Finn off his feet. "Hey!" Finn yelled after him as Kurt touched lightly down at the finish line, and half-heartedly jogged the rest of the way. "That's cheating!"

"You wanted to race," Kurt said cheerfully.

"But I was supposed to win," he said as he kicked at a rock.

"Oh, cheer up," Kurt said, and squinted at the waving grass on the hillside. "Look, let me go over there and lure it over. You can film an adorable little bunny rabbit for your video."

"Okay," Finn mumbled. "This time will you—"

"No."

  


* * *

**June 5, 2011**

"Sing."

"No."

Finn tagged along after Kurt, video camera in hand. "You totally cracked up when Rapunzel's hair went all glowy and we said she was like you!"

"Yes, and I've heard that many times by now," Kurt said. "I am still not going to be a Disney princess in whatever sort of strange videos you're trying to send to people."

"But—"

"Grow up, Finn," Kurt snapped.

"Just sing once," Finn said, and by that point there was no way to call it anything but whining.

"All right," Kurt allowed. Finn was barely able to get his camera up in time before he'd started a rollicking, purposefully hammy performance of Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin'.

"You were supposed to sing to an animal," Finn said flatly when he lowered his camera at the end. "And to sing a good song."

"Oops," Kurt drawled and took off. He heard Finn shouting under him, reminding him that Kurt wasn't supposed to go off on his own, and glowered down at those frantically waving arms. It wasn't as if Kurt couldn't easily survey the land under him. He could see it was completely free of any black vans, hired goons, or anything else that might be a warning sign of someone trying to make a quick buck off him before their inevitable arrest.

Besides, he thought as he sped his way up the hillside, he really did feel safe there. There wouldn't _really_ be hired goons. A week earlier he'd made his first trip into town with Burt. On Kurt's request he'd introduced him as his son. Their surprise dimmed when he said that he wanted somewhere safer for his family. They accepted that explanation and, although no one spoke to Kurt directly, they gave him his space. He had the feeling that was how the town acted: so long as you weren't actively bothering someone, they would show the same courtesy.

People had still stared at him walking down the street. He was new, though. Here, that attention might actually fade. There were crops to plant and animals to tend; they couldn't waste time staring at a new neighbor who just happened to have wings and a collar.

Besides: rumor had it that _George Clooney_ had bought that big piece of land at the northern end of the valley.

Gossip could take hold, apparently; it just needed a bigger spark than Kurt could provide.

He'd gone nearly half a mile from the house by the time Kurt touched down. Warm summer breezes brought the scents of grass baking and sap oozing free of trees. Kurt sighed happily and leaned back against the carpet of dry pine needles. He began to run through goals in his mind: while Burt managed the construction of their real home, he would find the best trees to plant for that climate. He would pick out a site for their eventual beehives. And in the next week he'd plant as many flowers as he could manage; their exuberance would make up for his limited wardrobe.

A sudden noise made Kurt jump to his feet. He irrationally feared that he somehow had overlooked kidnappers, but the truth was still dangerous. A young buck was rubbing the velvet free of his antlers. The animal was huge and Kurt had a sudden flash of picturing those razor-sharp hooves tearing him open, or the prongs of the antlers skewering his chest. He really hoped that wouldn't happen. It would hurt. "Ah. Hello," he nervously said when the buck skittered back from the tree and stared at him. It snorted, but then sniffed the air and seemed to reconsider its reaction.

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief when the buck walked delicately toward him and then extended his head. "Thank you for not turning me into a colander," he said as he gamely scratched the elk along its jaw. Each movement of his fingers made the buck look progressively dopier with pleasure. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he quietly said as the buck licked his hand and then tried to eat his shirt cuff. "Hey, quit it."

The buck knelt down and Kurt, shrugging, followed him to the ground. "I've seen bigger guys around," Kurt warned him as he continued scratching the elk. It made a strange, snuffling sort of sound and then laid his head on Kurt. "Don't pick too many fights this year. Wait for next year."

A big brown eye looked at him balefully. Kurt admitted, "Okay, fair enough, you have to worry about getting eaten. I understand the desire to reach for that brass ring while you can, then." He knew he was projecting, as he really had no idea what the animal was thinking, but Kurt sighed and kept the conversation going. "And no, I'm sorry, I can't tell them not to eat you. I'm _sorry._ They wouldn't listen to me." It did seem a little unfair that he was so totally safe and others weren't.

Leaning back, he stretched out his wings so they went broad and flat over the pine needles. The elk lay placidly against him. "Although I haven't sought out that wolf pack we keep hearing," Kurt allowed as his fingernails roamed around the base of one floppy ear. "Maybe they would listen to me. Wolves are supposed to be smart."

The buck abruptly lurched to his feet. One sharp hoof caught Kurt as he stood; he let out a squeal of pain. His ripped shirt was soon soaked with gold as the buck, ears twitching, stared at something in the distance and then bounded away.

"Oops," Finn said when he got closer. His video camera was in hand and, from the red light, was still recording.

"Ow!" Kurt bellowed as he grabbed a pinecone and hurled it at Finn's head. His other hand clutched his side as he felt his skin knit closed. "Moron!"

"You're not supposed to run off alone," Finn reminded him. "And sorry. Wow, those feet must be really sharp." He hesitated. "You know, I was zoomed in from pretty far away. You could have sung to him before I got too close."

Kurt threw another pinecone.

  


* * *

**June 13, 2011**

"Stop it, Finn," Kurt said as he began to walk out the door. "I'm taking the dog. I am protected. You can stay." He still heard an enthusiastic suggestion that Finn could join the both of them, and Kurt sighed. After having to wait for warm weather to allow the foundation to be poured, their new home had come along steadily. They expected to move in before the end of the month. That would give them guest rooms that their friends had already claimed.

Because of that, Finn's video diaries had become even more frequent. And he was still determined to get Kurt to sing a pretty little song to some adorable animal.

"There's really not much to do around here," Finn said as he quickly packed a bag with drinks and snacks. "I like hiking."

"You could practice oil changes," Kurt pointed out. "Dad wants you helping at the garage."

Finn grinned. "What, and have a car crush me again? I need you nearby if I'm under a ton of metal." At Kurt's grumbled assent, he continued, "Burt's working on the house, right? So the garage isn't open. Mom's taking a nap. TV is all reruns."

"You know," Kurt began thoughtfully. "We're going to make that drive next week to get you a new truck. You should really check out the dealerships in the area to see what they have in stock. Maybe we overlooked a good deal." That caught Finn's attention, as he was clearly enthused by the idea of getting more truck within their budget. As he began hunting down a computer to do exactly that, Kurt triumphantly snuck out of the house. A giant mastiff trotted placidly beside him.

"Look at this," he grumbled to Hercules as he extended his arm. It looked blindingly pale under the noonday sun. Without the need to worry about wrinkles, he'd been excited to see what he might look like with a tan. He'd forgotten that his skin fought off any efforts to change it.

Hercules snuffled at his hand, licked it once, and then returned his attention to the fields before them.

"I'm trying to find things to complain about, aren't I?" Kurt asked him as they walked toward the treeline. "I should stop. JK Rowling sent me a letter asking if we liked our new home, can you believe it? I really shouldn't whine." His gaze wandered off into the distance, and before he could help it he griped, "But _why_ did she have to make Draco half-bald in the epilogue?" He turned to Hercules and saw baleful brown eyes staring back. "I know. Stop complaining. You're a good listener. You drool, I suppose, but no one's perfect."

He was talking to a dog. A week earlier he'd been talking to a deer. It really would be a good thing for his friends to visit. His father was so busy between the garage and house that he was seldom around, and what time he had was spent fretting over Carole's pregnancy. Carole was sweet enough, but she tired easily. And Finn....

The upside of their relationship in the valley was that they were no longer uneasy around each other. That was also the downside. Finn Hudson had no boundaries when he was comfortable, and he had yet to discover distractions in this new world. School letting out for the summer only intensified matters. He had little to occupy his time other than documenting their new life for the people they'd left behind. He wasn't a threat but he was _annoying._

"Did you know Carole's carrying twins?" Kurt asked Hercules as they walked past the first trees. "We were all very surprised. Of course, I suppose you wouldn't think that's interesting. You're used to litters. Or, um, you would be if not for...." He gestured delicately at the air, hoped their pet wouldn't take offense at the reminder of his neutering, and then paused. No, he wouldn't take offense, because he was a _dog._

Yes, he really did need to have friends visit.

Kurt's good mood died in an instant as Hercules stiffened and growled. "What is it?" he asked in a low voice. He took a step backwards, ready to flee.

Footsteps ran up behind him and Kurt was a hundred feet in the air before he heard the voice they carried. "Uh, you can come back down!" Finn yelled. "Sorry, did I surprise you? Hey, did you know that he's growling? What's up? Why did you leave?"

After rubbing his hands over his face, Kurt groaned and looked helplessly to the sky. Finn needed hobbies. Perhaps they could get him a mountain bike, or maybe he'd fall in love with his new little siblings and would spend all his time trying to teach them the name of football players and greasy snacks. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" he yelled at the ground. Every last defense he had was down. It wasn't like back in Ohio; he wasn't so cautious there.

"What, do you really think someone would try to take you out here?" Finn half-laughed, but sobered when he realized Kurt's surprise was real. "Uh, sorry. Hey, he's still growling."

Looking around, Kurt raised an eyebrow when he saw the likely source of their pet's distress. "Hold his collar," he told Finn as he drifted back to earth. "I want to try something, but he absolutely cannot get close." By then he felt ridiculous over his reaction. He should have known he was safe.

"What?" Finn asked, and clutched Hercules' collar as ordered.

"There's a bear," Kurt said calmly as he began walking toward the berry bushes where he'd seen a mother and cubs pulling free their lunch. "Stay back, Finn."

"You can't get near a bear!" Finn protested, and began to rush forward to grab him. Kurt shoved him back and glared fiercely until Finn retreated.

"No, _you_ can't get near a bear. If I push my luck too far on this and regret what happens next, well...." Kurt squared his shoulders. "Then when she walks away, put anything that's outside of me back inside. It helps me heal faster." He looked back at Finn's pasty white face. "And hold onto the dog. Seriously."

His stomach twisted as he approached the furry trio. 'Mama bear' was a cliché for a reason. Now he was about to walk right up to two cubs and hope that he wouldn't get a heavy set of claws lodged somewhere behind his eyes for his trouble. "Hello," he said weakly. His hand raised in a wavering greeting. What had seemed like a brilliant idea back with his companions seemed far, far more risky up close.

The mother turned, snorted at the air, and he could see drool fall from her mouth. Her cubs scampered behind her. Kurt swallowed hard when he realized that could only mean they saw him as a threat. "I just thought I'd say hi," he ventured. "Which might have been a really stupid thing to do. I just managed to befriend a giant dog, and then a deer. And birds. And I apologized to the deer for not being able to stop him from being eaten, so when I saw someone like you I just thought... you don't have any idea what I'm saying," Kurt laughed nervously.

The bear snorted again.

"So I don't really know why I walked up to you. Since my entire rationale was 'try to tell you not to eat that deer.' Of course, I don't know if you would even try. You're eating berries. Maybe you're a vegetarian. I would really, really love it if you were a vegetarian."

Something in his mind reminded him that, if things went downhill, he could simply launch himself again. But Finn was close. Too close. An angry mother bear, seeking justice for an intrusion upon her cubs, might well find him. Kurt could heal Finn if he were injured, but he did not want to test whether he could return a recently-killed body from the dead. It would be a far better plan—and only fair—to suffer through any ill effects himself.

The bear snorted again, and then cocked her head curiously to the side. Kurt sagged where he stood with relief. "Hi," he said again. "I am apparently fascinating. And completely harmless, trust me."

She leaned forward like she wanted to come see him, but hesitated when it would leave her cubs behind. With only a moment's thought Kurt stepped forward to close the gap, instead, even as he heard Finn yell protest.

"Quiet, Finn," Kurt said in a loud but steady voice. "Don't remind her that you're there."

He was able to walk right up to the family. In disbelief, he knelt down, still watching the mother, and waited to see what would happen next. One of the cubs tumbled into his lap and he let out a delighted laugh. The mother sniffed him thoroughly around his head, pulled back with an irritated expression when she got a nose full of styling product, and then went back to work on the berry bushes.

All right, then, Kurt thought as the cubs played around and on him. The mother wasn't as fond of him as the bird or deer, but she was completely comfortable. That was neat. It would have made perfect sense for his... whatever it was to only affect animals that wouldn't be interested in him as a snack, regardless of his collar. He certainly wouldn't complain about that trust being extended, though.

"I think I'll call you Mama Morton," he told the bear as she rummaged. Raising his voice, he called, "Finn? Take Hercules back to the house."

"But—"

"No one's going to come near me," Kurt added loudly. Mama sniffed him again, seemed to look him over to make sure that he wasn't hurting her cub, and then dropped a branch full of berries near his hand. "You have got to be kidding me," Kurt nearly giggled as he popped one of the berries into his mouth and then began feeding the cub.

Finn hadn't listened to him. In the distance Kurt could see him gripping Hercules' collar with one hand, while the other held up his camera. He looked just as disbelieving as Kurt.

Aware of the camera on him, Kurt only hummed.

  


* * *

**August 2, 2011**

It came as somewhat of a surprise that they made the trip at all. Mercedes, Rachel, and Tina were the first to visit. Mercedes actually booked her tickets for only two days after the planned move; when the house took a week longer than expected, she bunked on the floor of Kurt's guesthouse room. It just didn't work out that summer for Mike or Artie, but Puck shocked them by not only wanting to come, but scrounging together the money for a ticket. Finn introduced him to the wonders of mountain biking; Kurt had to remind Finn not to share the secret of his blood. Puck went home grinning and covered in bruises.

Those three girls adored him, though, and despite their problems Finn and Puck had been friends for years. He hadn't expected to hear from Santana asking if she and Brittany could come before school started up again. And yet there Finn was, kicking up dust on the driveway as he returned from an airport hours away.

"Hey," Kurt said warmly as Brittany hugged him. Her hair was a mess from hours in the air and more on the ground. He glanced to Santana as she and Finn hugged, as he wondered if she felt any temptation from their old relationship and its popularity. It seemed purely platonic, though, and Kurt looked back to Brittany and tried to smooth down her hair.

"We don't have to hug," Santana told him shortly. Brittany had stepped aside to marvel at the scenery around them. "I mean, I know Finn and I did, but...."

"But you've already done more, right." He smirked a bit. "Come on, I'll show you inside."

"We actually have a few spare rooms," Carole said when they'd walked through the foyer and kicked off their shoes. Her hand strayed instinctively to her growing abdomen. "We wanted to get them built sooner rather than later. The boys can pick out a couple for you and show you there."

Kurt considered the flash of disappointment that ran through Santana's eyes and tugged Carole to the side. "Can they stay together?" he asked quietly.

"They don't have to," she said, clearly befuddled. "I know it's fun to talk to your girlfriend late at night, but all we have are one-bed rooms. It's not a hotel."

He thought of the signs between the two. Brittany probably didn't care, but he knew from painful experience what sort of overcompensation Santana had gone through. He also suspected, from how any gossip had yet to come rushing at him, that they hadn't confirmed any suspicions their friends might have. "They're not out at home," he whispered. "This might be the last time before graduation when they get to feel like they're open and normal."

Carole blinked until his meaning processed. Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. They're, ah... the other kind of girlfriends."

"Not really. Sort of. I think it's just really complicated." He saw her about to protest and cut in with, "It could really mean a lot to have somewhere where people just accept that, you know? Even if it's a few days. It's really exhausting to hide after a while."

"I don't want anything _happening_ ," Carole finally said. "At least, nothing'd better make me think otherwise. I don't care about the rest of all that: you're all still kids. But I understand what you're saying, and we just won't tell your dad."

Grinning, Kurt turned on his heel and scurried back to the girls to tell them the news. Of course it worked. Everything was ridiculously perfect there. "If you want, you can room together."

Santana's eyes flashed wide for a second, even as Brittany accepted the offer without question. "Why would we do that?"

"You can fall asleep together and no one will care," Kurt said simply. "Just, you know... keep it to sleeping. I know you do other stuff at home, stuff that'd give my dad a mental breakdown. But there you can't just fall asleep and not worry about someone walking in."

Though her eyes still darted around the room in search of some hidden threat, Santana eventually relaxed. Brittany was still more cheerful about the prospect, but Santana managed to smile and say, "Okay. Um, thanks."

"That room might wind up as a nursery," Carole said dryly. "We wanted to be able to hear a baby crying. It's not soundproofed."

"Point taken," Santana said. She still seemed to be fighting down giddiness as she threaded her fingers through Brittany's, looked around the room again, and let her shoulders relax from where she'd drawn them toward her chin.

They soon headed to bed; travel was tiring. The next morning Kurt chatted with them as they ate breakfast. Next year he was going to learn how to keep bees. He'd begun to love honey to unhealthy levels and they'd help pollinate all the plants; it was a perfect plan. Though Brittany seemed to agree with nearly everything he said, Santana's eyebrow quirked higher toward the ceiling.

"What?" Kurt finally asked. He expertly flipped another buckwheat pancake off the griddle and slid it onto Brittany's plate when she claimed it.

"You're like some Earth Day pod person," Santana said. She leaned away from him.

"I can't go to the movies, can't buy a single shirt without first deciding whether I'm able to cut it apart, and all of my 'classes' have to be independent study." He shrugged. "It's better to focus on what I can do."

"Like cuddle with adorable widdle aminals?" Santana asked. When his brow furrowed she said, "Like on the videos Finn sent?"

Groaning, Kurt wiped down the griddle with a wet rag. "I thought he'd given up on that." Apparently imperfect, song-free videos were better than nothing.

"Not so much."

"He kept trying to get me to sing to them," Kurt said. "And no, I never did."

"Are there really a lot of animals around here?" Brittany asked. "Because in Finn's video it kind of looked like the San Diego Zoo without polar bears and koalas." She paused. "Do you have koalas?"

"No koalas," he said. "But yes, the woods are _packed._ " Considering that, Kurt made a move toward the back door and motioned for them to follow. Carole was in town. Burt had asked Finn to help at the garage in the morning. There was no one around except one very large, single-minded dog who wouldn't try to bring along a video camera. "Come on, let's go for a walk." After a habitual pat against his hip, Hercules joined the trio.

"I have to either travel with Finn or Hercules," Kurt said with some annoyance as they set off. "The whole point of moving here was that I would be able to have space to go outside. Maybe when I turn eighteen I can declare independence and go for a walk alone."

"Rebel," Santana smirked.

"Actually," he said with a grin, "I just can't go _alone_ , and you're here. Hercules, go back to the house. Go back to the house," Kurt ordered again when the dog hesitated, and with a mournful look he complied. "No Finn," he said happily and spread his arms to the sky. "No dog."

"Doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?" Santana asked dryly as they walked into the trees. Brittany's hand strayed up, trailed along a low branch, and claimed a pinecone.

"Things are simpler here," he said with a shrug. "It's nice. There's not all this baggage with the people I do meet. I can go to the edge of my range without seeing anyone else, usually. So, with less to worry about...." He smiled. "Yeah, I guess it is easier to be happy."

Brittany, of course, seemed to agree with that. It was only natural for the living embodiment of 'ignorance is bliss.' Santana seemed more pensive, and after they'd walked a ways in silence Kurt asked her what was wrong. When she shrugged, he added, "I'm still surprised you came out here at all. I mean, we're not friends. So you came across the continent _and_ you seem deep in thought about anything other than the best way to insult me."

"That stupid thing I said on the video," she finally mumbled. "I say so many things every single day, you know? No one ever calls me on it. I always get away with it." Her arms folded across her chest as she walked, even though they were on unsteady ground. "You left because of me," Santana said. "I guess I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right."

Kurt blinked. "Why would you think that I left because of you?"

"I saw the news. I saw _all_ the news stories of what happened." She rubbed her arms. Brittany idly played with her pinecone, tossing it between her hands as she walked. "I saw closeups."

It had been long enough that reminders didn't send him into immediate flashbacks, but Kurt was still left a little queasy at the reminder of that night in the snow. "I still don't see why that means I left because of you. Why, because you said where I was?" She nodded and he shrugged. In retrospect, thinking back to the way old classmates had stared through their front window, it had only been a matter of time before someone tried something. "If they hadn't showed up that night and things kept getting worse... someone probably would have skipped school and wound up breaking into the house."

"How can you just accept that?" she asked as she eyed him sidelong.

"I took so much abuse from people growing up," he said. "If someone you're used to hurting turns into _this_ , are you going to work on changing your perspective? Or are you just going to go, 'hey, perfect, best of both worlds?' They still felt like they could hurt me and now I was just a piece of property." He frowned. "Worst of both worlds, really."

She looked dubious, and he continued, "It probably sounds hard to believe, but the people around here are nicer _because_ they saw the collar first. They thought I was one thing, and then they saw Dad treating me like his son. Really, there was nowhere to go but up. And it never feels personal."

"And you're okay with that?" she asked like she couldn't quite believe it.

"Okay with what?"

"With... where's Brittany?" She turned and slowly developed a horrified expression. "Oh, dammit. Her parents were fine with making this visit because they told me to _not_ let her wander off!" She started running in any likely direction, shouting Brittany's name. Kurt tried to stop her but it was futile, and with a sigh he launched himself and looked for a blonde ponytail and hot pink tank top in the woods.

When he spotted the shirt, it took him a second to realize just how bad things were. Kurt dashed there so quickly that his knees and hands hit the ground when he landed. Even as the impact rang through him he ordered, "Get back!"

"That is a really big bear," Brittany said nervously behind him. The cub she'd been trying to approach ran squalling for its mother.

Santana had apparently heard their ruckus and ran to join them. Her sudden arrival put the already growling mother further on edge, and she reared up on her back feet. The girls seemed suddenly aware of how very small they all looked compared to her, and how they were in her world instead of a human one full of cars and pizza delivery.

"Get back," Kurt told them insistently. He extended his wings, blocking them from view, and risked a few steps forward. Santana tried to grab him, and when the bear snarled again he yelled at the girl, "Back the _fuck_ up, Santana. Are you deaf?"

She looked angry, but grabbed Brittany and started a slow retreat into the forest. Self-preservation seemed to have overcome any kneejerk desire not to follow Kurt's orders.

"It's me, Mama Morton," Kurt cooed. He recognized the distinctive patch of coppery fur on one leg. "They just messed up. They're not going to hurt your babies."

She snarled again and he tried not to let his voice shake with fear. He'd never before approached an animal that was actually _angry_. The blood had to have limits for how much it could affect an animal. "They're gone. Brittany probably just wanted to pet one. I promise she wasn't going to hurt her. And they won't come near again."

Spittle fell from Mama's jaws in thick, ropey strands. She sniffed the air, grunted, and growled at some point through and beyond the wings.

"They're gone," he said reassuringly. "They're gone." It was hard not to let out a sigh of relief when she fell back to all fours, and he finally knew that he wouldn't wind up in agony as chunks of his flesh regrew. "They're gone," he said one last time as he knelt down and refolded, so he'd be smaller and harmless in her vision. The cub that ran behind Mama slowly approached him again, sniffed, and then butted her head against his hand like a cat.

He scratched behind her ears and around her muzzle for a long time. Mama relaxed and went back to rooting for food, trusting him wholly with her babies. The moment continued to ease.

"You know this is ridiculous, right?" Santana asked from far across the clearing.

Kurt stood and cradled the bear cub in his arms. "What is?"

"You! This!" She threw up her hands. "Everything! Will you put that down and come over here? I swear, pretty soon Brittany's going to forget everything and try to come close again."

"Go see your mom," Kurt told the cub as he placed it on the ground and then swatted it lightly to get it moving. He, with one longing look back at them, joined Santana. "What?"

"Forget the pod person bit. You're like some Disney princess," she began.

"Did Finn tell you to say that?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"What? No. This is just weird! You used to be this guy who'd probably jerk off to a really good apartment listing in Chelsea, who wore things that _seriously_ did not exist in nature, and now you're so...." She sighed. "I don't know." Her desire to make sure he was okay, so she could cross off that guilt from her mind and never _care_ about Kurt again, was apparent.

"I think he looks happy," Brittany said simply. Kurt smiled at her.

"You do," Santana said. "And whatever, I guess that's good. But just, you know... Sleeping Beauty danced around that stupid house with the pink and blue dress, but that spell was still on her. That stupid spinning wheel was waiting. If you're not going to worry, then I guess I will." Because she didn't want to watch him get hurt again, as that would make her feel guilty.

"Nothing's going to happen here," he said. "Look, we should probably get out of the woods before Brittany finds something else to pet. Finn'll be back soon. He could drive you back to a town you went through on the way here. There's a lake, you could rent jetskis or a boat...."

Santana relented. The girls spent their vacation on the lake, gorged on summer food, and curled up at night under the same sheets. That pleasant bubble burst on their last day and it was suddenly time to load them back in the truck, wave goodbye to the duo through the windshield, and wish them a safe drive.

Other friends still came to visit Kurt in the years to come, but they never again made the trip in person. Santana occasionally checked that he was okay, but her questions faded when he always replied that yes, he was happy and safe. Their lives and careers grew out in the real, harsh world. Kurt planted lemon trees and rosebushes.

  


* * *

**November 26, 2020**

"Careful, that's hot," Carole warned her daughter as she pulled a tray full of biscuits from the oven.

Ann rolled her eyes. "Okay, Mom, I won't grab the hot tray with my bare hands." Her expressive face morphed into annoyance; at nearly nine years old she was practicing her adolescence early.

"Well, Grace grabbed a hot pot's handles," Carole said with little judgment as she checked on the sweet potatoes. The named girl was too far away to hear. She and Finn were setting the table for Thanksgiving dinner, sneaking snippets of the game when they could.

"And?" Ann shrugged as she reached up under Carole's arm and snatched one of the biscuits; Carole slapped her hand. "It's not like it's a big deal."

Kurt, frowning over the counter, wondered again why he'd chosen to prepare Brussels sprouts. Every time he dreamed that he would get the rest of the family to appreciate them and every time he was disappointed. Because of that distraction it took him a few seconds to realize both his mother and sister were looking at him. "What?"

"She has a point, you know," Carole said as she began loading serving platters. Burt saw they were nearly ready and began carving the turkey at the far end of the kitchen, so Kurt wouldn't smell it so strongly at the table. "Her hands were just a little sore. You didn't need to pull out a knife."

He stared at her. Was she serious? His little sister had cried out in pain, he could fix it in a moment, and it wouldn't do him any lasting harm. And although he loved both of the girls, he freely admitted to himself that Grace was his favorite. They looked nearly identical except for their eyes: Ann's brown had given her Carole's late mother's name, while Grace's blue had led Kurt to rhapsodize over Grace Kelly.

They were both glorious troublemakers, as children their age should be, but Ann had a fiery streak that forced people to rein her in. Grace would come for help when she countered trouble, and often to him. Of course he'd cut himself for her. It hardly took any blood.

"Would you take this to the table?" Carole asked Ann when she saw Kurt's reaction, and handed her the basket full of biscuits. She didn't even comment when she saw Ann sneak one on the way there. "Kurt," she began quietly, covered by the noise of Burt's electric knife working through the turkey. "You shouldn't have healed her hands."

"It wasn't anything," he said dismissively, and held up the unmarked finger he'd sliced.

"Exactly. Her hands were a little sore and would hurt for a couple of days. She wasn't in real danger. But how will they learn to _think_ if they always know in the back of their head that nothing they do has real consequences?" She sighed and shook her head. "It's beautiful here. I mean, I finally got that pony I always wanted as a little girl," she said with good humor. "Well, a horse."

"And?" Kurt said more defensively than he meant to. He felt so connected to the land around them. Criticizing their home felt personal.

"You can walk right up to a bear and it'll practically give you a kiss. And those animals, by now, if they smell you on us... well, we can't get _close_ , but we don't have to worry as much as we normally would." She started to move his sprouts into a serving dish. "But it's not the same outside, for the animals that haven't met you. That dog that some idiot brought to the ski hill nearly tried to rip off Finn's face, remember?"

Kurt sniffed dismissively. "It was winter and it was inside a car. The windows would have been closed, meaning it never smelled him."

"The owner was walking it _back_ to the car because they wouldn't let him in. It smelled Finn and still attacked."

"Fine," he allowed. "What's your point?"

"The world outside isn't like home. I don't know if any of you—any of the other kids, I mean—will want to sign on for helping out around here for good. But whoever doesn't, whether they leave at eighteen or years after that, needs to be ready for the real world." Carole sighed when she saw him continue to bristle; with those fluffed feathers, it was obvious. "All right. Let's just leave it at that. I'm not trying to ruin Thanksgiving, and I'm not saying it's not wonderful here. That's the problem; everywhere else is harder."

Kurt sighed too and let things rest there. He knew very well how terrible the world could be and how much people could suffer. Their home, in contrast, felt perfect. Trees sprouted in huge orchards and he'd trained flowers and bushes into intricate shapes. Animals from birds to wolves had come up to him, and even that wolf pack had sniffed at Finn from a distance before running off. Why couldn't they just let things be as good as they possibly could? Why shouldn't he heal his sister's burns?

Hercules raised his heavy head when Kurt approached. Without missing a beat he knelt down and scratched the light fur. He had to make more of an effort than he had even a month earlier; Hercules raised his head less each day. It had been shocking how quickly his muzzle had gone white, and without thinking about it Kurt had cut his hand and tried to get him to take some blood. The dog refused until Kurt forced him.

Two Newfoundlands slept next to each other in the entry hall. They were rescues from someone who'd fallen in love with the puppies but was shocked at even their adolescent size. Kurt had been thrilled with the concept: Peter Pan's Nana was a Newfoundland and so they were perfect guardians for his sisters. Burt pointed out that they couldn't take in everyone, though. If he kept all of their pets young instead of giving them good lives and then letting them pass on, that room would fill up.

He hated that he couldn't fix everything, but at least he'd picked out a beautiful gravesite for Hercules.

The family didn't say what they were thankful for at the beginning of the meal. The girls had whined the year before about how twee it was (Kurt had just taught them the word), and how they were being _starved_ in the meantime. That year, Burt and Carole compromised: they had to say something if they wanted any dessert. The meal began with the clatter of utensils against bowls, requests to pass them, and admonitions not to feed the dogs from the table.

"I heard from Jo," Burt began after their most immediate hunger had eased. He'd gotten on a first-name basis with the author after she'd paid for his new garage, and he thought nothing of her status as a media mogul. Instead, they'd shared tales of single parenthood. "She's working on that new series." They knew her vague intentions—an anti-slavery allegory—but it sounded like years until the first might hit the market, or a decade. She wanted to do it right and was writing other novels in the meantime. "She, ah, asked if you'd want to come visit."

Kurt realized Burt meant him and blinked. "Visit? _There?_ " He laughed. "How?"

"Take a plane?" Burt shrugged. He saw the way Kurt stiffened at imagining being wrapped inside metal and thrown into the air, and said, "Or a boat. Could make a real trip out of it, you know? Remember how you always talked about the places you wanted to see in Europe?"

He poked uncertainly at his salad. Rowling had said she wanted to pick his brain, if he wouldn't mind. Her own Angel haltingly told stories of what had happened to her, but she'd suffered for a long time and had accepted it all when it happened. Kurt's perspective, of struggling against his bonds the whole time he was sold, was quite different. He hadn't decided how much he'd share. Even though it might effectively turn him into a major character in one of _her_ books, putting himself out there like that felt uncomfortable.

And sailing to somewhere unfamiliar, in a city crowded with people...

"I know you don't want to get close to people," Burt said uncertainly when Kurt didn't jump at the chance. The others there seemed very surprised that he wasn't taking the offer. "But we could stay outside of the city. She said we could use her driver. She's had him for a long time."

"I'd really just rather stay here and talk on the phone," he said apologetically. His shoulders jerked up in a quick shrug. He knew every pathway leading from the house. He knew the smells of each season. Home was comfortable, like a perfect pair of jeans that could never wear out, and everywhere outside it seemed unappealing in comparison.

"I want to go to London," Grace said shyly. "Can I go, then?"

"Afraid she didn't invite you," Burt said kindly. "But we'll see about something in a few years. Maybe your mom can take you, or Finn." His attention turned back to Kurt. "But you are going to do that work with her you talked about, right? If you're planning to talk on the phone?"

"I'll see," Kurt said. "But we have all those cabins we've been building, right? I'm going to be very busy making the interiors look nice. They're just bare boxes, now."

"You don't have to worry about those for a while, yet," Carole said.

"I am an adult," he said a little more tensely than he intended. "No matter how I might look. I know my to-do list. I'm just trying to keep the important things at the top. Can we please focus on dinner?"

"All right," Burt relented, and Kurt stopped being the focus of their meal. Both Grace and Ann eventually said that they were thankful for being able to go to London, like their parents had _promised_ they would, and everyone laughed.

  


* * *

**July 6, 2029**

"Where's Ann?" Carole asked as she looked up from the playpen. "I want to add a few things to the list before she leaves."

Kurt flipped to another page in his book. "I think she already took off, actually."

Her eyes flashing wide, Carole asked, "What? But I just saw Grace at the kennel. She was still in her work clothes and she had all the dogs."

"I know, she went alone. She was just running to the store, Mom." Kurt smiled a little and pointed out, "And she hasn't had any accidents... yet." True, she was still a new driver, but the roads were open and there was little traffic between their home and the next, larger town over. It'd be safe.

Shaking her head, Carole pulled out a phone and started speaking into it almost immediately. "You come back here right now, young lady. You are not supposed to go anywhere but school alone. And you are _especially_ not supposed to leave the valley alone." She looked outraged a second later and pulled the phone away to stare at it. Ann had probably hung up; she absolutely loathed being called 'young lady.' "She is in so much trouble," she seethed.

Kurt hadn't been given freedom at eighteen. The guilt trips from his attempts to sneak away alone had eventually made him give in to always make sure he was accompanied. Finn had the same restrictions, at least, but took it as an excuse to travel with the dogs he loved. Grace largely followed orders. It was usually Ann who chafed.

Privately, Kurt understood Ann's frustration. If they were somewhere dangerous, he could appreciate their parents' worry. But injuries around there came not from bullies, but from spooked animals or ski slopes. For all that he'd protested that he was an adult, it did feel like he'd been granted an extended childhood. He worked on what he cared about and then played with no thought for other responsibilities. Despite the setting that safely cradled them, Carole's face was turning red. "Calm down," he said. "She'll be back soon. She called the store to let them know she was coming, so they'll have the bags on the dock. You know how quickly that goes."

"Did she say she was going alone?" Carole asked tensely.

"Probably," Kurt said. "They'd want to have a clerk there ready to help her load, right?"

"Dammit," Carole said. She called again, shook her head, and grabbed the keys. "Kurt, tell Grace to stay inside when she comes back in. Watch the babies." And with that she was gone, presumably to chase after her daughter to the next town over.

Ann and Carole were back maybe forty minutes later, and from the expression on Ann's face they'd argued in front of the house for some time. "I know you're nearly an adult," Carole said, but she didn't sound like she cared. "But so long as you're around this house, you take precautions."

"Why?" Ann laughed, almost defiantly. "To avoid getting attacked by all the people who know us, or the animals who don't care if we walk by?" She groaned. "Mom, do you even know how insane you sound? Nothing happens here. _Ever._ That is the problem and what drives _me_ insane."

"We've talked about this," Carole said. "If you want to leave, we won't stop you. You can absolutely go to college and do whatever you want. But you can't just drive around _here_ on your own, sweetie. You can't."

It seemed a nonsensical reaction, and they shrugged at each other. "Okay, Mom," Ann finally relented.

"Okay," Carole said with relief. "Go put away the groceries." She saw Kurt looking at her as Ann walked off and said, "We don't make you worry about these things. But we still need to."

What things? Kurt sighed, rubbed at his face, and then played more with the babies in the playpen. Carole sounded so worried, like there was something specific. He didn't know what it might be. Although, Kurt admitted to himself, he didn't want to know. He ignored anything wrong that went on there.

Maybe Carole was just overreacting. Maybe he'd given his perfect vision a blind spot.

  


* * *

**August 21, 2029**

"Open up," Kurt said as he hopped onto the couch next to Finn. "Time for your annual physical." Finn never needed to worry about a tumor growing or artery closing. Every year he took another dose of blood, regardless of any recent injuries, and any developing problems were corrected.

"No," Finn slowly said. "I don't think I'm going to."

"What?" Kurt laughed. It was a completely nonsensical statement.

"I don't think I want to take any more blood," Finn explained. "Not until I figure some stuff out."

"What?" Kurt repeated. "I don't understand."

"I don't know if I want to be here. I can always have some later if I change my mind. But for now, I just... I want to be normal," Finn said. He wouldn't meet Kurt's eyes.

"You don't know if you want to be here? Wait. You're going to leave?" Kurt said in a daze. Their lives had been largely unchanged for almost twenty years. He had his own patterns: flight, tending to food, and enjoying the lives around them. Finn drove to other towns as needed and dated girls there, though it never lasted. Their patterns overlapped as well, with incredible ease and comfort after so much time. They built cabins. They played with siblings. They danced along the lines of what anyone might consider appropriate, as they knew it would still be a long time until Kurt met someone.

"I don't know," Finn repeated. "I just... look, maybe you're happy. I'm not judging that. You can really just go up into the sky and you're so freaking _happy_ when you come down. And that's great. That's awesome. But you don't change. That's natural for you. I... I'm supposed to change."

"I don't understand."

"I want to figure out what I'm supposed to do. And living the same year over and over might not be it. Never going anywhere alone, never keeping a steady girlfriend...." Finn studied his hands and finally looked over. "I'm sorry. I know you don't really have a choice. But I need to make one."

"But it's perfect here," Kurt whispered.

"That's kind of the problem. It's perfect on stuff I don't care about as much as you, and it's messed up on stuff that's just...." He shook his head and didn't answer when Kurt asked what was wrong. With another mumbled apology, he stood and walked away. Kurt looked in mournful disbelief after him.

He wound up on the roof. Perfect white clouds, too high for him to reach, floated by overhead. He could see the cabins that now dotted their land. Eventually, whenever that big world outside changed, they'd be ready. He didn't know why anyone would want to go out there when they could stay inside. There was work to be done and pride to be had in those accomplishments. The world craved eternal youth; wasn't this extended childhood the pinnacle of that?

It didn't matter that Finn had only said he was considering it. In Kurt's mind he was already gone, off to live in the outside world and get old and die. Like all of the friends who had made their own lives, Kurt would be forgotten. He hadn't made any new friends in all his time there, except for family; it was all an extended farewell to old acquaintances whose lives moved on from his.

But he'd been happy with that. Finn said they were reliving the same year, but it was a _good_ year. They didn't need anything more. Kurt didn't need to do anything more than the most occasional communiqués with the outside world to get money for the refuge, and he never had to go out of his comfort zone.

Of course, Ann seemed unhappy. But Kurt had never understood her unhappiness over anything more than excess parental concern. He assumed she'd grow out of it. Teenagers complained about everything.

Finn wasn't a teenager. Kurt didn't know why he was unhappy.

Burt yelling his name didn't sound like the voice of a man reliving a perfect year. Wracked with sudden concern over whatever made him sound like that, Kurt pitched himself off the roof and joined him on the deck. "What's wrong?"

"Grace went to the store this morning, took one of the German Shepherds." Burt's jaw tightened. "Dog's dead."

Kurt started. "What? Oh, did she call? That must have been horrible for her to see. Did he get hit by a car, or—"

"She didn't call. She hasn't answered her phone." Burt shook his head. "The collar signal dropped off."

"Collar signal?" Kurt repeated in confusion. "What collar signal?"

Burt hesitated before saying, "We tag all of the dogs' collars so we'll know if one of them is killed away from the house. For safety, since they're our security." He looked like it pained him to admit his next words. "We've shielded you from this, because you shouldn't have to worry. The people in this town are nice. They know you. But you get outside, even a little... it's the same as anywhere."

"I don't understand," Kurt said, even though he had the terrible feeling that he did.

"People are always a little too interested when we go get groceries, go see fireworks, anything like that. Too interested in you. And they know who's in your family, and we didn't want to give them any...." Burt choked up. "We need to find her."

"You think someone did something to Grace?" Kurt repeated slowly. It was hard to think. He hadn't felt those fears for a long time and he was out of practice. "Because of me?" Burt instantly said it wasn't his fault, but that was a yes. "Oh my God," he whispered. The little girl whose blue eyes he'd loved was taken because of _him?_ "Why didn't you tell me about those people?"

"We just tried to keep everyone safe," Burt said helplessly. "And you were always around here." That seemed to be it, and he went inside to talk to the police on the phone as Kurt stared blankly at trees and scattered wildflowers.

The officer arrived quickly; there weren't many problems for them to worry about. "Have you been in contact with the girl?" she asked. When she heard that Grace wasn’t answering her phone, she tried to calm the frantic family. "If you said the dog she was with died, she could be traumatized. Teenagers don't always answer their phones, and in this short a time—"

"Ours do," Carole said shortly. "They know how important this is." Ann looked guilty at the lie she'd recently made of that statement.

The officer's communicator beeped and she turned her head to where it was clipped to her collar. "What is it?"

Her partner, at the family's garage, spoke over it. "I just found a note pinned near the door. We wouldn't have seen it driving by. Can't say at first glance how long ago it was put here."

"What's it say?"

"We have the girl. Meet us at the following location with the Angel's controller for transfer if you want to see her alive again." He rattled off a location tucked away into the mountains, on an old logging road. "Do not call the police or she'll die." He made an irritated noise at the unwitting violation.

"They're moving fast," the officer said. She shook her head. "They're trying to do a grab-and-run mixed with a ransom situation. They've got to be desperate." Her gaze moved to Kurt and he swallowed; it was his potential sale price they were desperate for.

Carole looked ready to pass out. "They might kill her. If they're desperate, they'll just react."

"We can't risk doing what they say," Burt said urgently. "Even if it's just to get them to set her free, so she's out of harm's way. Turning over the controller says they _are_ the owner." He looked at Kurt and was visibly pained. "The law'd get things straightened out, but not before...." Not before some terrible things might happen.

Of course, he'd live through that. He'd live through anything. She wouldn't. That was why she was such a perfect bargaining chip to get them to sign Kurt over. She was their vulnerable, beloved daughter, and to anyone who would do such a thing he was nothing more than a very valuable piece of property.

"What are we going to do?" Carole agreed with tears in her eyes.

"Brass ones," the officer muttered as she shuffled her notes. "They've got brass ones if they think they can get away with this. The kidnapping's state; coercing someone to surrender an Angel's set at the federal level." She saw their overwhelmed expressions and tried to fill the silence with promises of what would happen after everything was fixed. "Press charges and they're in for a world of hurt, trust me. Any damage or coercion about an Angel is just...." She whistled appreciatively.

"What about coerced damage?" Kurt slowly asked after he'd stared at the wall for a long stretch of silence. His old fears and coping mechanisms were slowly coming back to his mind. He was considering things he wouldn't have the day before. "Would that penalty scare them off?" He could dimly remember what it felt like to want to bring the law down on boys who'd hurt him. (They were men, now, but he'd never updated his mental images.) The punishments were severe.

When the officer nodded, he nodded slowly back. It wasn't any surprise he was the one to come up with the plan. No one else would have asked it of him; because of that, they wouldn't have raised it as an option. "If they think they can get away with this, they clearly don't know how things work with me," he said in a shaky voice. "So I have an idea."

  


* * *

He halfway expected Burt to say that he didn't have to do this. The man was silent as they bumped along a remote mountain road toward the named destination. Whether he was worried about his son or daughter, Kurt didn't know. They were being monitored; the police had added a camera to their car. Other than that technology, though, they were alone.

They parked when their GPS gave the precise latitude and longitude, got out, and waited.

Two men soon joined them. They rounded a corner from where their car was presumably parked. One of them carried something Kurt didn't recognize; it looked vaguely like handcuffs with a bar between them. "Good man," the shorter one said to Burt. His gaze darted nervously around the woods. His tongue flicked out like a snake's and wet his lips.

"We knew you'd pick your kid," the taller one said.

"Where is she?" Burt asked loudly.

"She's in our car. Hand it over and—"

"Where is she?" he repeated.

Tall made an irritated noise, jerked his head, and Short vanished around the corner. He soon returned with Grace bound by the wrists and knees with duct tape; she had to awkwardly shuffle. He pushed her when she moved too slowly and she nearly tripped; Burt almost lunged forward until Kurt placed his hand on his wrist and held tight.

Grace met Kurt's eyes and mouthed "I'm sorry." He did the same. It was his fault she'd been taken.

"Here's the kid," Tall said. "Hurry up, we want to do this quickly. And so do you: you don't want us getting impatient. Show us the controller."

Burt, swearing, dug it out from his pocket.

As his pulse sped, Kurt tore his gaze away from Grace to look around the forest. No bears, no wolves, no dogs; nothing that might sense his distress and come to his aid. Of course, they were outside of their home. These animals would like him after some exposure, but he didn't have time for that.

"Use it," Short said. "So we can see it's the real one. You could have brought a fake, left the real one at your house."

Kurt turned to his father and tried to communicate the meaning of that with a look: if they didn't know that the controller had to stay near, then their plan was likely to work. They were obviously ignorant of almost everything about Angels. "It's okay," Kurt said. "Show them it's the real one."

"Listen to it," Tall said. It was difficult not to flinch; he heard 'it' occasionally, but it was so rare in his life. "Show us." Pain flared, although it was over quickly, and he nodded in satisfaction as Kurt's cries faded. "Okay, lock it in."

"What?" Burt said uncertainly. His pale, guilty face kept looking between Kurt and Grace. His hand clutched the controller fiercely. "I don't know what you're asking me to do."

"Not you," Tall said, and Short stepped toward Kurt holding those handcuff things out in front of him. "I don't know if these things can fly or not, but I'm betting they can from how they use these sometimes in shipping. And I don't want to let your kid go only for this thing to take off. So tell it to turn around, so we can cuff it."

It didn't ruin their plan, but Kurt was struck with sudden, crippling fear and nausea at the idea of turning himself to these men and exposing his wings for their touch. Grace let out a breathy gasp, and he saw that Tall had a knife to her throat. His stomach twisted further. "Tell it to turn around," Tall repeated.

Kurt didn't have to wait for Burt to give him that order. He turned around, nearly hyperventilating, and heard Short walk up behind him. There was a click of metal opening, and then one of the cuffs closed around his left wing at its base. It was cold, uncomfortable, and _wrong._ The other one closed around the right and he felt the bar lock into place between them. He instinctively tried to move his wings and couldn't, not more than a few inches.

"It can still move," Tall said uncertainly. "You should probably tighten it."

"Okay, give me a second," Short said and began to fiddle with the cuffs. He turned something and the cuffs tightened painfully around the left wing, then right. Kurt cried out with each movement and tried to fight back tears. He could feel his pulse pounding through their entire length. Then the bar between them clicked and shortned, locking him into an awkward half-extended position, and the pain intensified. He felt like he might throw up.

"Stop it," Burt said worriedly. "You're going to hurt him."

"No we're not, and it's not your concern what we do to it. Hold out the controller, get it ready to turn over, and we'll give you back your girl."

"No," Kurt said. It was time for the plan to go into effect, but his fear was hardly an act. "No! I'm not going with them!" Unsurprisingly, they ignored him; in their eyes he was like a puppy whining while moved to a cage for transport. The only decision they cared about came from the owner, not his property.

That changed abruptly when Kurt pulled out a knife.

"Control it," the man said warningly. "It goes for us, we go for her."

Kurt held the knife up high, ready to plunge into his own chest. Grace cried out and tried to lunge for him, but was held in place when she nearly toppled over. She beat on the man's chest with her bound hands. It was hard to focus through the ever-growing pain on his back; his entire body felt like it was throbbing with each heartbeat. "I'm not going with you. I can either stay here safely or I can be dead, but I'm not going with you." He shot a glance to the pickup. Inside its cab a video camera was clearly recording. After a moment the kidnappers saw that camera, too.

"Kurt, put down the knife," Burt said.

"Why's it have that?" Tall asked. "You plan on doing this?"

"I'm in the woods all the time," he said. It was hard not to whimper from the pain. It felt like his entire body was in a vise. "There are animals. I have to protect myself. You should have checked."

"Take the knife away from it," Short said with a frown. "Now!"

Burt sighed, looked with worry at Grace, and then approached Kurt. Kurt's arms tensed and he readied himself to drive in the knife, and Burt backed off.

"Do it," Short said. They were clearly getting nervous that this was taking too long.

"If you're someone who'd kidnap my sister," Kurt said, "you're bad people." If he were only an object in their eyes, he might as well play it up. Short, simple sentences would make him sound like a child. A child might be impetuous enough to pull this stunt with a knife. Besides, with how much pain he was in, it was as much as he could manage. "I'd rather die than go with you."

"Get the fucking knife away from it," Tall said.

Burt approached him again, but Kurt put pressure on the knife. He bowed his chest to make it look like the knife had penetrated even a bit and cried out, and Burt backed away. "He's not paying attention to me. He is not going to listen. So if you force me to give him up by blackmailing us with his sister...." He said the next words directly to the camera. "Then you've just forced him to kill himself. Please, just let my daughter go. You shouldn't have done this, but we won't press charges. I just want her back."

"Bullshit," Tall said after a moment of thought when his expression turned visibly away from panic. "It's bluffing; you probably told it to put on this show. Come on. Hand it over."

"I'll do it," Kurt repeated one last time. He met Grace's eyes. Stick to the story, he thought. Please stick to the story. She was smart. She'd know what to do.

"Hand it over," the man repeated with a wicked smile.

Steeling himself, Kurt brought his hands down in a strong, fast arc and drove the blade of the knife into his heart. He held his hands there while the men gasped, swore, and turned sickly grey. Burt yelled and dove for him, while Grace screamed and threw her weight against the nearest man. Kurt's fingers went numb as he watched gold spill freely down his chest. It thudded in time with his failing heart. He dropped to his knees as the world began to darken. Coughing once brought the taste of blood to his lips. So long as the knife penetrated his heart, the flesh there couldn't heal. Burt would carry him away and only pull out the knife at home.

The plan had made sense back there. But it had been a very long time since he'd felt that slow, cold approach into death. Even though he knew he'd wake up from it when the knife was gone, Kurt was suddenly scared. So much innocence had been destroyed in the space of a few hours.

"Shit, now what?" one whispered.

Burt played up the act that he really, permanently was watching Kurt die in front of him. It was probably easy. Kurt was slack against the ground, blood pooling beneath him, and his half-lidded gaze was unfocused and fading. It couldn't be easy for a parent to see. The tears were probably real.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Throw her back, let's get out of here!"

Kurt's eyes fell closed as his heart stilled. He could hear stumbles as Grace was pushed across the dirt road, and then lost her balance and fell. One last painful breath rattled free as he heard the men's footsteps pounding away on the road, and then Kurt gave up and died.

The passage of time had no meaning to him so long as the knife was in his chest. He sucked in a huge breath as he swam out from under the darkness. Blood still poured free. The knife had probably just been pulled out. He hurt everywhere. He tried to move and felt like he couldn't, and Kurt jerked hard against whatever had him bound.

The sound of something shattering hit his ears. His pain grew. He flailed, heard someone telling him to relax, but could only focus on the pain on his back. His wings were trapped. Something was crushing them. Someone tried to pin him down and he managed to strike out enough to drive them away. It was back to struggling after that, as he tried to get away from whatever bound him.

Logical thought slipped away by the second. He became pure instinct. He _had_ to break free. He _had_ to stop the pain. Nothing was more important than being able to move freely. He threw himself to the side, hoping to get away from the trap, and something else shattered. Shouts, the fading rhythm of pounding feet, and cries of pain filled what remained of his human thoughts.

He struggled himself into exhaustion. His chest heaved. Though he didn't have the energy to move, his eyes were still wide and panicked where he lay. The cheek against the ground was wet with tears and saliva. He occasionally jerked, tried to reach behind himself, and cried out again when the pain surged.

Someone approached him again and reached to pin him down. He tried to struggle but his energy was gone; he could only whimper and wait for whatever happened next.

There was more pain as they grabbed onto the trap on his wings and manipulated it, and then steadily increasing pressure. The sound of metal snapping brought sudden relief. Kurt felt his wings flop against his body from where they'd been held. Something turned on each one and he felt the vises open. Human thought returned: it was the traveling cuffs the kidnappers had put on him, and tightened far too much. He was safe.

Now he could focus on the space around him. He was in the living room. Lamps and knickknacks lay shattered on the floor. Feathers were strewn everywhere from his struggles. Babies were crying, as was Grace where Carole held her. Ann looked pale as a ghost.

"You okay?" Burt quietly asked Kurt as he knelt down next to him. The bolt cutters that had freed Kurt were in one hand. "I should've taken that off before I pulled out the knife. Just didn't think, I'm sorry—"

"It's okay," Kurt said. He tried to push himself up but couldn't find the energy. He'd given his all to escape, like a wild animal caught in a bear trap. "Is she okay?"

"Pretty shaken up."

"Stay down here with her." His eyes closed and he took a few deep breaths before he reopened them. "I'm going to sleep. I'll be fine." Though Burt didn't seem to believe that, Kurt knew he wasn't headed for a void like he'd once felt. He'd chosen this suffering and it was soon over; he wouldn't be happy, but he wouldn't be lost inside his own mind. He tried to push himself up again, couldn't manage it, and felt strong arms scoop him up.

They were nearly to the stairs when Kurt processed that both Burt and Carole were hugging their traumatized daughters. It wasn't Burt carrying him. He looked blearily up at Finn. "You weren't there."

"What?"

"When we heard they took Grace. You weren't there."

Finn didn't say anything until he'd put Kurt carefully down on his bed. "I was taking some of the dogs around the boundaries. Mom called to make sure I was okay and I came running back, but...."

"I'll get used to it, I guess," Kurt mumbled and went to sleep. He woke up an hour later when a smaller figure climbed into bed with him. Grace curled up against him, fingered the knife's hole in his shirt, and said yet again that she was sorry. He was sorry, too. It was his fault that had happened. And all that time, danger had been waiting just outside their walls.

  


* * *

A few days later he walked up to the house, told Carole what had happened, and sat down on the deck with a towel spread across his folded legs. She soon brought out a bowl of milk with bread in it, and Kurt began feeding the bear cub he'd carried home.

"Another hunter?" Burt said when he opened the door behind him.

"Yeah." Kurt scratched the bear's back as he ate the mush. "He was still trying to feed; they just shot and left her." His heart grew heavy. "I don't know why someone would do that."

"Was it on our land?"

"Maybe. It was right at the edge."

Burt nodded solemnly. "Well, I'll go check it out. Make sure no one else thinks they can hunt around here."

Kurt nodded and tried to focus on the life he'd saved, rather than the knowledge that his supposed perfect forest had hunters swarming outside what suddenly felt like a very small piece of property. "How long have people been asking about me, Dad?"

He didn't reply immediately. "Pretty much all the time we've been here. You know how we'd go do the Fourth near the lake, for fireworks... people would always look at you. It's like that. I just didn't think you needed to hear every last thing that happened."

The bear ate hungrily at his meal. Kurt would have to find him some more. He'd saved bears before; they were easy to feed. They liked plenty of things. "Dad? How old do you think I am? Not going by the calendar, I mean."

Burt hesitated. He looked much younger than he had when they'd moved there, but he'd settled well in the role of the family patriarch. His face hardly mattered: everything about him communicated a grounded, reliable nature. Carole was much the same. "I don't know," he said simply. "You've been happy, and you've kept yourself busy, so there never seemed a need to push you into doing anything else. Are... are you still happy?"

"I've had some nightmares," Kurt shrugged. "It won't last. That day was just kind of a... bucket of icewater to the face, you know. It really woke me up." His fingers scratched a few more times through soft fur. "Finn might leave."

"Yeah. He told us."

"I guess he wants to grow up." Kurt thought of celebrities he'd kept at arms' length, of friends who were well into careers in law or politics, and sighed. "I guess I should. As much as I can, anyway."

"Jo's in France this week," Burt said simply. "Her private line's in the directory." He patted the bear on the head and headed back inside, leaving Kurt with his thoughts.

A perfect late-summer day surrounded him, but he could already smell autumn on the air. It would soon be time to harvest again, store some food, and dry or preserve what wouldn't last through winter. The snow would fall, he'd look after everyone during the holidays, and then he'd take to the air again in giddy flight in the spring. That was the year that had repeated almost twenty times, inside their walled garden while the world continued to churn outside.

"I might not be able to see you much when you grow up," Kurt told the bear as he finished his meal. "I might be busy." He could still feel the flash of cold steel sliding into his heart, but everything after that was a blur of pain and instinct. It was probably for the best. He'd heard from his sisters how he wasn't even himself until Burt cut the cuffs off. Now he was faced with the question of who he _was_ going to be.

He eventually picked up the half-napping cub and carried him to the kennel. His scent was on him, and so the dogs didn't bark when Kurt found an empty run, put down some blankets, and closed the cub in to sleep.

Leaning on the deck's railing, he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the warm summer breeze. It was hard. Simple pleasures weren't so simple any more. The sight of his sister with a knife against her throat sometimes lurked behind closed eyelids. When he opened them, he saw that a bluebird was on the railing next to him. "Hello," Kurt said. It chirped and he managed a sliver of a smile.

Motion in the corner of his vision made him turn his head, and he saw Finn climbing the stairs. He held up his hand and Finn stopped, then nodded when he saw the bird. They stood there for a while and enjoyed the sight, before Finn had to approach and would send the bird flying away.

"Want me to sing?" Kurt asked, suddenly remembering the question Finn had asked him over and over again.

"Nah," Finn said. "That's okay."

"Oh," Kurt said and turned back to the bird.

It took decades, but some things finally changed.


	4. Someday

**April 10, 2057**

"Kyung. Kyoh."

The man in front of Kurt considered the words and then shook his head. "Nothing," he admitted with a hint of regret.

"Kwan. Kim. Koon," Kurt tried, but relented when Jae shook his head again. There weren't many Korean surnames, all told. It was a small enough list to read through in occasional sessions. He'd thought that if he said the right name then it would be like unlocking a door: Jae would remember his family. He'd remember whether, perhaps, he'd lost a second part to his given name: Jae-Sun, Jae-Hwa, Jae... Jae _anything._ He'd remember everything.

But they were nearly halfway through the alphabet and everything was still a huge black hole in his memory. He was only moderately sure that his real name, even a fragment of it, was Jae. He knew that they'd called him that long ago in the training facility, and that some of his owners had used it as well. He was fairly confident that it really belonged to him.

"Try saying something in Korean," Kurt urged him. Surely something would spark his memories. He'd been trained in English when he was collared; all Angels were taught either English, French, or Mandarin by the cartel, if they didn't already know one of those languages of global trade. The other language he knew had helped pin down his origins.

Jae considered that, and then said something Kurt couldn't understand. It seemed like it was something nice: he smiled as he said it and stared into Kurt's eyes. Of course he was beautiful—his blood made sure of that—but over the time spent in each other's company, Kurt had started paying attention to the particulars of what made Jae... _Jae._

No matter how much time he spent in the sun, his jet black hair refused to pick up any highlights. His eyes were nearly as dark as his hair and glittered with the same unnatural sheen as Kurt's. His face was angular enough that it might not have been attractive if he'd grown up naturally, but instead his skin caught and manipulated the light in fascinating shadows under his cheekbones. He was like a walking, breathing black and white photograph from some top artist.

 _Crap_ , Kurt realized with only mild dismay as Jae finished talking. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything like this, and he was feeling it hard. "That sounded nice," he said a bit too breathily. "What'd you say?"

"'Thank you for trying.'" Jae's smile went lopsided. "You have other things to do. You don't need to waste time with me."

"It's not 'wasting time,'" Kurt said. He leaned back and Jae followed his lead. They were sprawled against the roof of the main house just above Kurt's room. At three stories it was high enough to see over all but the tallest trees. The valley was entering fully into spring, and the air was crisp and clean. It was a beautiful day. "It's nice to have someone pulling me out of the office."

"Well," Jae said after some consideration, "then it's nice to pull you."

Kurt smiled a little too much and leaned in more than he meant to. He was probably an open book. It wasn't that he didn't meet new people, but he didn't make friends. Those in the know referred trustworthy benefactors to him and they came for visits before they wrote checks or learned what they should talk about for Angel rights. He'd met Oscar winners and CEOs. But celebrities meant press following them at every moment, and people in business needed to be in their own offices, not in some rural mountain valley. Kurt knew none of those people could really be _friends_ , and so he never looked at them as anything past acquaintances.

And then there were all the Angels in need who'd come to them. So many were broken, and those in comparatively good shape were assigned to them like security blankets. Kurt couldn't be friends with the broken rescues, he could only look out for them. Those who had names and personalities... other people needed them more. For decades, he'd only made new, true friends when they were born into his family. Now he'd happened to get to know one of those Angels in relatively good condition. There were no walls or stumbling blocks. Everything, for once, was easy.

Except when it came to Jae having any idea who he was.

"How many will stay here?" Jae asked as he looked back at the sky. Kurt stammered uncertainly; his attention had wandered a bit too much to the way the sunlight was gleaming off that black hair. He caught up when Jae pointed to the sky and continued, "When they get better?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted. Part of him wanted them to stay right there where he could keep them safe and protected. Another wanted them to find a new place in the world and make it their own. Perhaps that was what it was like to be a parent. "We built the cabins to last, but they're so small. Some might be happy with that, I suppose, but others would want full houses. We could expand on the cabins, or we could build new houses when and if people are ready to commit to staying. Of course, who knows how long that'll be?" Kurt looked out at the expanse of empty land and shrugged. "I suppose it'll keep me busy in the future: taking care of building permits, checking out towns for people if they want to move, figuring out how people should sell whatever they make here, if they decide to stick around and be artists or craftsmen or... I'm rambling again."

Jae smiled tolerantly at him. Of course he did; for decades he'd been trained to do whatever others wanted. Even if he was fortunate enough to have relatively easygoing owners, old habits still had to die hard.

Kurt decided he would make sure to pull him into conversations. "Are... you planning on staying?" he asked.

 _Subtle, Hummel._

"Where else would I go?" Jae said. It wasn't the answer Kurt hoped for, but then, he didn't know what precisely he wanted to hear. It was a perfectly logical answer and he was saying it to someone who was just a friend.

After a few moments in which he made sure he wouldn't step all over Jae if he tried to continue, Kurt nodded. "Well. I suppose that makes sense. I'd like it if you stayed."

A delicious sort of tension gripped Kurt's chest as he watched Jae's pleased reaction. It was _amazing_ how well-adjusted Jae was. Missing memories aside, there was little to set him apart from anyone else in the world. Except, of course, for his flawless features and the great golden-brown wings on his back. They were a bit broader than Kurt's, but with slightly shorter flight feathers: less ornamental and higher performance. He'd be able to dive and twist like the birds of prey he resembled.

The tension intensified when Kurt pictured being up in the sky. He bit his lip and tried to control himself. It was hard: he'd put off a personal future for so long, and now he wanted to lean over and kiss his gorgeous, well-adjusted friend who had no plans to be anywhere but there. He wanted to throw off gravity's shackles and head into the sky, to feel the wind and sun on them without any sounds but their own movements.

In his imagination there was abruptly _nothing_ between them and the sun: no clouds and no clothing. Kurt let out a tiny squeak, cursed his creative mind, and felt his cheeks blaze with heat. He was jumping ahead. He was jumping so far ahead of himself. Just because it might be likely didn't mean it would come true. Just because Jae couldn't remember his last name didn't mean he was hunting for a new surname to take on.

He was picturing married names. His stupid heart was gone, Kurt admitted to himself. Given the first opportunity in far too long, his heart was _gone._ "Um," he said with a conscious effort to change the subject. Their eyes had been locked on each other and even if Jae seemed completely at ease, Kurt felt as if he might explode into a mess of feathers and embarrassment. "What would you like to do? Not that I don't love lying against the roof and wondering just how many bird droppings the rain has washed off, but...."

The default answer for many friendships there would be to go flying for the day, but Jae knew Kurt had to stay closer than the valley's normal residents. He was always on call. "Your family's away, right?" Jae asked after a moment of thought.

Kurt blinked. "Ah, yes. They're all doing things at the far ends of the property. Why?"

"We're right over your room," Jae pointed out. "The house is bigger than the cabins. Your bed is probably bigger than mine."

Kurt's smile wavered and strained. He couldn't possibly mean what Kurt thought he was implying. "Why would we need a bed?"

Confusion cut a line between Jae's eyebrows. He soon caught up and explained, "Oh, I guess we wouldn't have to...." He was naturally terse. Where Kurt's words were effusive and plentiful, his were rare. It was the most he'd said in a single stretch since Kurt had known him. "If you haven't tried each other, it's good to take things slow. But we could stand, or use the floor."

"Tried each other," Kurt repeated hollowly. So that was it. Jae really was suggesting that they have sex with each other with all the passion he might use for playing a board game. He saw them as two slabs of meat impacting each other, not—eventually—as two people in love who'd built up to a moment of total connection and exposure. The hope in his chest withered and left a painful void.

Jae was, perhaps, a little less well-adjusted than Kurt had let himself dream.

"Let's not," Kurt said thickly and tried not to sound as disappointed as he felt. Jae would think he'd done something wrong, and it was all those people with controllers in their hands who deserved that label. "I just... I'd rather not."

"I could show you," Jae said after a moment of hesitation. He was obviously confused about the tension between them and had landed on the wrong explanation: Kurt was nervous and ashamed because of it. "When someone's not trying to hurt you, it feels really good."

"Maybe someday," Kurt allowed. He stared at the sun so he'd have an excuse for his eyes watering.

Maybe someday.


	5. Perspective

**SEPTEMBER 2, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** I need to talk to you about something.  
 **Finn Hudson** fuck off

 **SEPTEMBER 5, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn, would you please listen to me?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn, you're being unreasonable.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Hello?

 **SEPTEMBER 6, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** I need to talk to you and this is the only way I have. So unless you block me, then I'm going to keep trying.  
 **Finn Hudson** what part of fuck off didn't you understand?  
 **Finn Hudson** I should of blocked you  
 **Quinn Fabray** But you didn't. Doesn't that mean, at some level, that you know you want to talk? It's been a long time. Aren't you interested in what I have to say?  
 **Finn Hudson** no  
 **Quinn Fabray** But you're still talking to me. And with no typos. :) Well, except for the "of."  
 **Finn Hudson** kurt bugs me about typos  
 **Finn Hudson** shit  
 **Quinn Fabray** What? It's good you mentioned Kurt, that's why I wrote you.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Hello?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn?

 **SEPTEMBER 7, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn?

 **SEPTEMBER 8, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn, this is ridiculous.

 **SEPTEMBER 9, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** If you're going to block me, then just do it already. Then I can stop trying, at least.

 **SEPTEMBER 10, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** So, how's Idaho?  
 **Finn Hudson** what the hell? are you trying to track me down?  
 **Quinn Fabray** So, I guess I'm right?  
 **Finn Hudson** no we're in colorado  
 **Quinn Fabray** Oh, so you're telling me where you really are, hmm? Instead of letting me think the wrong place?  
 **Finn Hudson** we thought about montana 2 maybe were there  
 **Finn Hudson** n utah is rly nice lots of mormons tho  
 **Quinn Fabray** Your spelling is slipping again, Finn. Nervous? Typing quickly?  
 **Quinn Fabray** You posted a picture of your new truck in front of some mountains, in case you've forgotten.  
 **Finn Hudson** so? all the places i said have them  
 **Quinn Fabray** It was easy to look up state license plates. Yours didn't look like Colorado.  
 **Quinn Fabray** You're bad at being sneaky. Really bad. You posted pictures of yourself at some ski resort and included its name. Now I've got you pinned down within... what, fifty miles? I'm assuming there are a lot of them out west and you wouldn't drive further than you needed to.  
 **Finn Hudson** ...  
 **Quinn Fabray** All you needed to do was remember to set your galleries to private. You should probably do that tonight, since I'm pointing it out.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Now, to get back to the topic I TRIED to land on days ago: Kurt's looking good. I saw him in the background of something.  
 **Finn Hudson** FUCK YOU

 **SEPTEMBER 11, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** I didn't reply last night because I thought you must be angry, and it wouldn't be very productive. Why did you react like that, Finn?  
 **Finn Hudson** you SHUT UP you have no right to ever mention him EVER EVER  
 **Quinn Fabray** Would you believe me if I said I wanted to apologize?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Hello?  
 **Finn Hudson** no

 **SEPTEMBER 12, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** Can we try this again, please?  
 **Quinn Fabray** God, Finn. You're making this so difficult.  
 **Finn Hudson** are you gonna tell people?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Tell people what?  
 **Finn Hudson** where he is so they can hurt him again  
 **Finn Hudson** is that y u stalked me?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Stalked you? I looked at two pictures, you moron.  
 **Quinn Fabray** I'm sorry, Finn. I don't think you're a moron.  
 **Quinn Fabray** It's just frustrating trying to talk and not being heard.   
**Quinn Fabray** Okay, it's been an hour. I'll try again. No, I'm not going to tell anyone where you are, although it's not like you were keeping it a real secret.   
**Finn Hudson** do they know? will they hurt him?  
 **Quinn Fabray** I don't know. I'm not in Lima any more.  
 **Finn Hudson** what?  
 **Quinn Fabray** It wasn't good for me there after what happened.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Everyone blamed me. You saw how it was getting by the end. It wasn't safe. People were so upset. We got some calls, some people came by the house... it was really scary. We moved in with my mom's sister in Indiana. I'm doing senior year here.  
 **Finn Hudson** ppl cared that much about what happened to kurt??  
 **Quinn Fabray** Um. They were upset about the football team. The ones who died and got hurt. Remember?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn? Hello? Don't do this again.  
 **Quinn Fabray** You SAW how people reacted, it's not like this was a surprise.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Oh, come on. This isn't news! Weren't you paying attention?  
 **Finn Hudson** i hate that place  
 **Quinn Fabray** I'm not a fan, either.  
 **Quinn Fabray** ...Hello?  
 **Quinn Fabray** I'm seriously questioning whether it's worth it at this point. Ugh.

 **SEPTEMBER 15, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** Hi. I couldn't get on the computer before now. Are you there?  
 **Finn Hudson** they didn't care at all what those assholes did to him?  
 **Quinn Fabray** You saw it all with your own eyes, Finn.   
**Quinn Fabray** The guys who made it will be fine, by the way.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Wrecked any sports careers, of course. A bunch of them will probably barely be able to walk for at least a year. But it sounds like the long-term diagnosis is good. People told me that and they said I should consider myself lucky that they'd be okay after everything I'd done. I don't know why they blame me.  
 **Finn Hudson** fuck this  
 **Quinn Fabray** I... okay. I don't know why they ONLY blame me. I did something wrong. But so did they.  
 **Finn Hudson** yeah no kidding  
 **Finn Hudson** you were his friend  
 **Finn Hudson** how could u... fuck. the stuff you said, quinn... it was so mean  
 **Quinn Fabray** Mean. I suppose that's one way to put it. I was going to say "dangerous and irresponsible."  
 **Finn Hudson** wait, you're serious?  
 **Quinn Fabray** I shouldn't have done what I did, and I'm sorry. I know I did a lot of things wrong last year.   
**Quinn Fabray** Finn, I'm honestly sorry. Can't you believe me? Wouldn't you like to move past things?  
 **Finn Hudson** i guess  
 **Quinn Fabray** And now I'm the new girl for senior year, just like you're the new guy. Not very fun, is it?  
 **Finn Hudson** no. sucks.   
**Quinn Fabray** You're on the football team, aren't you? I saw the uniform in a picture. Black and gold... you look good. :)  
 **Finn Hudson** lol the school's tiny, every guy is on the team it seems like. but yeah  
 **Quinn Fabray** Did you just lol at me? :)  
 **Finn Hudson** guess so. where did you move to?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Kokomo, Indiana. Like the Beach Boys song. The school's okay. I got on the squad. Mom got a good job and my aunt's nice. It's just hard to lose everything you've worked for, you know? None of these people know about Cheerios trophies or starting a new choir or anything. Or how good your football team was last year. I'm just... the new girl. You're just the new boy.  
 **Finn Hudson** yeah. but it's ok, i just need to get through this year  
 **Quinn Fabray** Where are you going to college? :) I'm excited... part of the money from selling our house went into a college fund. I'm going to Bloomington. It's really going to happen! I don't know my major yet.  
 **Finn Hudson** oh i'm not, i'm helping around here  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn, don't say that. You're better than staying in some tiny little mountain shack. You really are. You could do... well, okay, I don't know what you'd be good at. But there must be something.   
**Finn Hudson** gee thanks  
 **Finn Hudson** my house isn't a shack  
 **Finn Hudson** and that's not how it is, they're going to need me around here  
 **Quinn Fabray** For what? What do they "need" you for?  
 **Finn Hudson** uh never mind i gotta go  
 **Quinn Fabray** Subtle as always. Remember to post a photograph of your master plan, James Bond.

 **SEPTEMBER 16, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** I am SO glad that this week is over! This school has the AP classes I wished McKinley would add. This early in the year, though, and they're already hard.  
 **Finn Hudson** Why did you say where I am, Quinn?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Huh? Oh, I just wanted to get your attention, and point out that you should probably set your galleries to private. I mean, I know you were very hush-hush about where you were headed when you left.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Wait. Are those capital letters I see?  
 **Finn Hudson** This isn't Finn.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Oh.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Hello, Kurt.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn and I have made up. I'm sure that makes you happy.  
 **Finn Hudson** Not quite the term I would have used. I've been singing "Judas" under my breath all day. If only the lyrics themselves were more appropriate, but the title works.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Wow, I bet that flew right over his head.  
 **Finn Hudson** Pretty much. Stop messaging him.  
 **Quinn Fabray** But I'm trying to make things right.  
 **Finn Hudson** And were you ever planning on talking to me instead of Finn?  
 **Quinn Fabray** I didn't think you'd want to.  
 **Finn Hudson** Tell the lady what she's won.  
 **Finn Hudson** Did it break your heart to know that someone who you thought could fly high... well. Isn't THAT a funny way to put it? Did you kill any kind feelings for me so you wouldn't have to think that someone you'd cared about, even some tiny sliver, was like THIS? Was your world knocked off-balance and you thought the only sure thing was to cling to the top of the school order like a lifeboat? Or did you just go to church every week, secure in your unquestioned superiority, and think, "Whatever, the fag deserved everything coming to him?"  
 **Quinn Fabray** I never thought that.  
 **Finn Hudson** Gee, I find it kind of hard to believe you.  
 **Quinn Fabray** I was SCARED. It doesn't happen when you're this old! It doesn't! You know it probably won't happen to you, but there's that little bit of fear as you hit the right age... and then it fades. But you were one of them even this late, and it scared me. Okay? Sorry. And now I'm not head cheerleader at my new school, and no one knows me, and I don't have any friends. Congrats, my life is ruined, I'm sure you're very happy. That makes up for it, right?  
 **Finn Hudson** Wow. Your life is ruined.  
 **Finn Hudson** Wow.  
 **Finn Hudson** Because you have to make new friends. And then you'll go to college with a fresh new fund, and you'll have to make new friends there, too. God. Heartbreaking.  
 **Finn Hudson** The whole conversation history is here, you bitch. Bloomington.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Are you done?  
 **Finn Hudson** No, Quinn. I don't get to BE done. I get to wake up every morning in a collar. I get to live with the memory of being captured and sold. I get to hear my personal rights treated as a joke, like they'd let dogs vote before me. My life is over. OVER. You stupid child.  
 **Finn Hudson** Did you walk away from the computer? Fine. Just remember that when you were scared over nothing, you decided that it would make you feel better to rally the ironclad social order around yourself and play a really nasty role. You did that by telling people they should hurt me and rape me, and everyone in the world thinks the same thing, and I DON'T GET TO BE DONE  
 **Finn Hudson** EVER  
 **Finn Hudson** fuck you  
 **Finn Hudson** enjoy getting divorced at forty  
 **Finn Hudson** you're going to be jowly before you go under the knife, I can see it already  
 **Quinn Fabray** I said I'm sorry.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Kurt?  
 **Quinn Fabray** I can't make it up to you if you don't talk to me.  
 **Quinn Fabray** You look really pretty now.  
 **Quinn Fabray** I don't know if you realize that.  
 **Quinn Fabray** So you can fly?  
 **Quinn Fabray** That's really interesting. What does it feel like?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Hello?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Come on, I said something wrong. I think this is a little over the top. "My life is ruined"... it's just a phrase.  
 **Quinn Fabray** I'm really very sorry for what I did to you. I shouldn't have done it.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Kurt?

 **SEPTEMBER 17, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** Kurt, hello?

 **SEPTEMBER 18, 2011**  
 **Quinn Fabray** Kurt, I know you healed up within... what, a day?  
 **Quinn Fabray** The guys who hurt you are going to feel pain for YEARS.   
**Quinn Fabray** Doesn't that make you feel better?  
 **Quinn Fabray** And can I just point out that they were the ones who hurt you? I never touched you.  
 **Finn Hudson** srsly quinn?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Hi, Finn. Is Kurt okay?  
 **Finn Hudson** are you really trying to back out of things again???  
 **Quinn Fabray** No. I'm not... it's just hard. I took all the blame from everyone in Lima, you know? And the boys were the ones who threw rocks at the Jones house, not me. :( But no matter what I said, it was wrong.  
 **Quinn Fabray** I was just scared and I said some bad things. Wrong things. I didn't mean to. I'm not a bad person, right?  
 **Finn Hudson** no  
 **Finn Hudson** you make some BIG mistakes :P but no  
 **Finn Hudson** but you should prbbly leave him alone  
 **Quinn Fabray** Okay. :( I just wanted to make things right. Well... we can catch up still, right? It would be nice to know that one person really forgives me....  
 **Finn Hudson** maybe. best i can do, ok?  
 **Finn Hudson** i screwed up with him too  
 **Finn Hudson** big time  
 **Finn Hudson** took me a while to realize how bad things were for him, and everyone like him, and that my crap didn't really matter  
 **Finn Hudson** did you really believe all that bible stuff you said? i mean... it was so stupid. with him being EVIL, lol  
 **Quinn Fabray** I reached for any word that worked at the time. I'm not proud about it, but I did.   
**Quinn Fabray** I said a lot of things I didn't believe, if I thought they would help me. I'm myself now. I'm better.  
 **Finn Hudson** i still don't think he wants to ever talk to you :\  
 **Quinn Fabray** I guess I can't blame it.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Him.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn, I meant him. I hit enter before I processed what I'd typed. Really. I meant him.  
 **Quinn Fabray** Oh COME ON, I typo'd!  
 **Finn Hudson** hey, you said this was you being yourself now  
 **Finn Hudson** good luck w/ bloomington  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn, please don't...  
 **Finn Hudson** if you're a good person like you say, you won't ever try to contact him again  
 **Quinn Fabray** Finn, please. I made a MISTAKE.  
 **Finn Hudson** words have meanings  
 **Finn Hudson** you made people angry, you were their leader  
 **Finn Hudson** and it is such a bad thing to call him  
 **Finn Hudson** words are... they're... our dad does better speeches  
 **Finn Hudson** i'm not gonna say you can't ever be good after what you did  
 **Finn Hudson** just don't bring it to him and make him sign off on it  
 **Finn Hudson** ok??  
 **Quinn Fabray** So... I'm just supposed to carry this guilt around with me forever? Because he won't hear me out?  
 **Quinn Fabray** Because my fingers slipped?  
 **Quinn Fabray** That's so unfair.  
 **Finn Hudson** you know  
 **Finn Hudson** i think you can deal


	6. Photo Ficlet: At the Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over on my tumblr (bellinaball.tumblr.com) I've been taking advantage of its inherently multimedia-driven setup to write ficlets inspired by photography of relevant settings. I'll bring those over in batches now and then.

  
[   
](http://www.flickr.com/photos/ajssmom/2818541787/)   


It was September and their first anniversary in their new hometown was approaching. They'd had time to settle into their new house, as well; Kurt no longer noticed the small nameplate near their door that proclaimed that The Hudsons lived inside. On that Sunday afternoon they'd decided to take advantage of the warm weather and their new surroundings by driving to a nearby lake. He enjoyed the change of scenery.

"I want to start keeping bees next summer," Kurt said as he dipped a sesame stick into honey. 

Burt looked uncertain as he adjusted the bread around his oversized sandwich contents. "Bees sting."

"Not me," Kurt said with a grin.

Eventually the talk turned to school and work, and Kurt asked if he could go exploring the area a bit. Burt nodded, but told him to stay within sight. They didn't yet know the people there. Kurt agreed and hopped lightly into the air. He wasn't racing; this was like a pleasant stroll down a forest trail.

He came to rest on a tiny island out on the lake. The air was clear enough to see layers of mountains marching off into the distance. With a happy sigh he sat down, fluttered feathers against the water at his back, and tilted his head up to face the sun.

The sound of a paddle striking the water broke him abruptly out of his trance. He leapt to his feet and looked at the interlopers with huge eyes. They looked like tourists. The woman had an expensive camera around her neck and he thought he saw a resort's name on the side of the small boat. "I told you," she said quietly to her companions. There was an outboard motor but they'd cut it as they approached him.

Kurt took a step backward and readied himself to flee. One of the men held up his hand and they stopped paddling. For what seemed like hours they stared at each other. The tourists weren't even talking to each other; they simply watched him with peaceful, awed smiles on their faces.

They'd been still for so long that it startled Kurt when the woman slowly lifted her camera. He exploded into the air and sped to his family. When he turned to look back, they were motoring away.


	7. Photo Ficlet: Dreams

  
[   
](http://www.flickr.com/photos/heliopavan/2589383060/)   


Kurt Hummel adjusted his jacket, considered his appearance, and then leaned in more closely to frown at the mirror. He'd paid for the best. That overpriced Manhattan doctor had promised him that botox would take care of his "issues" for now, and that he didn't need to go under the knife. Yet there he was, staring at tiny wrinkles that he was quite sure hadn't been there the day before. They couldn't have been: he watched for any signs of aging obsessively, and if he'd known they were coming, he would have gone through a lot worse than botox to fight them off.

The Los Angeles sunlight served as a good excuse to wear sunglasses, at least. They'd cover the lines spiderwebbing away from his eyes. It was cloudy back in New York, and had been all month. He'd have to book the appointment quickly and figure out some way to mask his struggles in the meantime. He sighed, pushed one more time at his skin, and thought on how unfair it was to have to get old. "Come on, Coco."

A lithe girl who looked no older than eighteen rose obediently from where it had been sitting. It was, appropriately enough, dressed almost entirely in Chanel. Those who didn't recognize labels at a glance thought that Kurt had given it a dog's name. The only other clothes he put in its wardrobe were from his own lines. He allowed it to piece together its own outfits every day, and it seemed to enjoy the chance for creativity. Kurt smiled indulgently at his pet; today's outfit was particularly stunning. 

"Check your wings, then we're going to the store opening," he said as he adjusted his sunglasses. "Do you want to put on your diamonds?"

Coco shook its head. Those "diamonds" were tiny flecks that it could adhere to its wings. The overall effect was spectacular, and would be especially so in the Los Angeles sunlight. "It's your big day, I don't want to distract."

Kurt smiled affectionately, patted it on the cheek, and cooed, "That's my good girl." He then frowned and wiped a smudge off its collar before heading for the car. He knew it would be right behind him.

With a great gasp of air, Kurt woke up from imaginary Los Angeles and felt his heart pounding. Nausea swept him. He gulped down the worst feelings and tried to focus on the here and now. He was home, in the house he'd lived in for five years. His collar was on and he was himself. His family was sleeping in rooms around the house: parents, Finn, younger siblings. Everything was fine. 

The door to the bathroom opened. It was a huge, comfortable bathroom, but he and Finn had to share it. It ran between their rooms. "Hey," Finn whispered. "You okay? Heard noises."

"Yeah. I'm fine." Kurt ran his hands over his face. "Just...."

"Dreams?" Finn asked sympathetically.

Kurt shook his head. "A nightmare."


	8. Photo Ficlet: The First Visit

[ ](http://www.flickr.com/photos/quesnell/1208562369/)

"What does it feel like?" Mercedes wondered. It was her first trip there. Burt had driven them both to a nearby tourist town, but Kurt was still too new and they got too much attention. They instead retreated to the mountains overlooking the lake, where Kurt loved the solitude and view. Mercedes was less impressed. That question was the first thing she'd said in an hour that wasn't at least vaguely related to heat, dry air, or mosquitoes.

"What does what feel like?" Kurt asked. He leaned back against the large, flat rock below them and enjoyed the heat it leeched into his body. Even in summer, he still enjoyed more warmth from the sun.

"Flying." She giggled. "That still sounds weird to say, you know?"

He smiled at her. "Believe me, I know."

"Well?" she asked, nudging his shoulder. (She was careful not to brush his wings. He'd finally broken down and told her exactly what that did to him.) "Is it fun?"

"It's way beyond 'fun,'" Kurt said. His gaze trailed along the rippling whitecaps of the lake, up to the distant verticals of the forest, and then above them all to a darkening sunset. "It's like breathing."

"One day," Mercedes decided after a long stretch where he'd stared at the sky and she'd stared at him, "that collar will be off. People will read history books and talk about how awful it was that this ever happened. They'd never dream of trying to collar someone."

"Is this a bedtime story?" Kurt asked. The warm rock at his back did feel nice; he really could drift off.

"No. It's the simple truth," Mercedes said confidently. "One day it'll all change, and people won't believe that it was ever any different. And you know what'll happen then?"

"What will happen then?" Kurt asked, humoring her.

"When some little kid sees feathers on his back, he's going to be the happiest little boy in the world. Because he won't have to suffer. He won't have to go through any of this. He'll just get to fly."

"That's a nice story," Kurt said gently. He couldn't believe it would happen, but it was a sweet thing to picture.

"Not a story. Facts. Just have a little faith." She saw his sudden reticence. "In God, in people, in whatever."

"Neither's served me very well," Kurt said. He somehow managed to imbue the words with wry humor instead of bitterness. "Any faith I'd had in people has been very neatly crushed over the past year."

"I'm people," Mercedes said. "And I'm telling you it'll happen. Do you have faith in me?"

He clasped her hand in his. "Now that," he said, and tried to believe in the future she'd described, "I might be able to manage."


	9. Photo Ficlet: Brother

[ ](http://www.flickr.com/photos/smoovey/5867442093/)

At the first sound of a shrieking baby, Kurt closed his book, allowed himself one quiet complaint, and walked out of his bedroom. If the crying had an obvious cause—hunger or a dirty diaper—he would soon hear that he didn't need to worry about it. It was part of the arrangement they'd settled into over the past year: Carole tended to the physical needs of her two new daughters and Burt helped out when he was home from the garage.

And, because it made the house far more pleasant for everyone, Kurt handled everything else. 

There was no call for him to go back to whatever he was doing, and so Kurt hopped over the railing and fluttered his way down to the living room floor. "I'm here."

"We have stairs," Carole pointed out. She was convinced that one day he was going to break his neck from taking that shortcut. (When he said it wouldn't really matter, she countered that she didn't want to watch.)

"They're slower and we have crying babies to attend to," Kurt said, already moving past her to pluck his little sister from her playpen. Ann was wailing so loudly that her face was a map of red and purple blotches. She often screamed for no reasons they could identify, and usually sent Grace into similar hysterics when she did. Indeed, her sister was making low-level noises and looked ready to break out the full waterworks. "I'm here," he repeated as he carried her to the couch and sat down. 

Ann cried for a few seconds longer, but then rested her head against him and snuffled like a curious dog. Her cries trailed off and were replaced by happy cooing.

"You are a miracle worker," Carole said with relief as she laid Grace against his free arm. "Calm her down, too?"

Just like the animals in the forest, Kurt thought as he watched his sisters enter into some sort of happy trance from his mere presence. "I wonder when they'll grow out of this."

"Do you think they will?" Carole wondered.

"Do you feel the urge to nuzzle me?" Kurt asked wryly.

She laughed. "Point taken. Well, hopefully this lasts through the terrible twos. Oh, the tantrums I had to put up with from Finn. You're a lifesaver, Kurt. I'm going to go shovel the front walk while they're sleeping."

He sighed and tried to adjust his position without disturbing the girl in each arm. "Carole?" he asked as he heard her walk away. "Carole, could you turn on the TV, at least?" The door closed without an answer.

When he tried to slide the remote toward him with his foot, he only succeeded in knocking it to the ground.


	10. Days After

It wasn't that Carole Hudson was an unforgiving woman. She'd invited a girl in to live with them when she thought she would be a grandmother, and when she found out the truth she managed to hold down her temper. She'd gone through a string of bad boyfriends and, for the sake of her son, had fought back the urge to rant and rave about them after they'd made their explosive exits. That was how it had to be. It was only the two of them, after all, and Finn was still her baby. She couldn't lean on him, and so she had to let anger pass away before it hollowed her out.

For months now, though, she'd thought she finally had someone else to lean on. No, Carole thought grimly as she washed the dishes in her sink. It was just one new link in a chain of bad relationships. She'd thought Burt Hummel was better than the rest. But wasn't that always the way? Some new man would be kinder or more thoughtful and she think that yes, this was the one. This was when things would finally work out. She'd remember what it felt like not to be so alone.

And then he started making excuses.

He canceled their dates.

He canceled everything.

"I wonder what her name is," Carole whispered to herself as she attacked a particularly stubborn spot of baked-on food. She realized a tear was running down her cheek and tried to wipe it with her shoulder; her hands were wet and soapy. She'd really thought that this one would work out. Even after all that _drama_ with the houses, she'd hoped.

"Are we not going out again?" Finn asked. Carole pulled her hands out of the water, grabbed a towel, and quickly dabbed her cheek in the midst of drying them. "Seriously?" he asked when he saw her shake her head. "That's like... four weeks in a row now. I thought you guys were going to patch things up from, um. You know."

"So did I," Carole said, still staring at the window above the sink.

Finn was quiet for a moment. "You're too good for him anyway, Mom."

She sniffled and tried to cover it with a laugh. "Thank you, Finn." His footsteps approached behind her, and then she felt Finn's arms wrap around her in a firm hug. More tears fell even as she tried to stop them, and she once again had to reach for the towel.

"I don't know what's going on over there," Finn admitted. He sat on the kitchen counter, which she normally forbade, but she didn't have the energy. "People ask me if I've seen Kurt around, but he's been totally MIA since the school year ended. Sounds like no one else has seen him either. I guess they're just asking anyone who might know."

Carole acknowledged him vaguely and stared at the still-full sink. She still had work to do. Best to get back to it. "Would you get that, Finn?" she asked as the phone rang just as she'd submerged her hands.

There was an odd feeling in the room when Finn returned. "It's Burt," he said.

She almost didn't take his call. "Hold it up to my ear, please," Carole finally sighed. "This won't take long, and my hands are wet." She waited until she felt the plastic against the side of her head and then said in her shortest, least forgiving tone, "Burt. Imagine hearing from you."

"They took him."

She tried to make sense of the words, but couldn't. They were hard to make out; Burt sounded drunk. She wasn't entirely sure that she'd heard what she'd thought. "Did you say 'they took him?'" she asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her entire body tensed. There could only be one 'him.' "Burt," Carole said more firmly. "What's going on?"

A thin cry sounded through the line. He sounded like he was dying even as they spoke. "They took him. I didn't even fight back, they hit me and they had guns, I knew I couldn't stop them, but I didn't even fight back, Carole. They took him in front of me and I didn't...." He trailed off into choked garbling and the call cut off.

A quiet, still moment passed over Carole like she hadn't felt since a soldier in uniform turned up on her doorstep. As then, she knew what had happened. All that remained was learning about the specifics. She turned to Finn. He looked frightened. "I have to go see Burt," Carole said calmly. The towel dried her hands and then she hung it neatly on its hook.

"Who did they take, Mom?" Finn asked. He sounded like a child. "And who took...?'"

"I don't know who took him," Carole said. She didn't want to say Kurt's name. It was like that would make it real, and even if she'd accepted it, Finn clearly hadn't. "I need to go drive over and find out. Will you watch—"

"I want to go with you."

"All right," Carole said, still inside that eerie calm. She let the water out of the sink and checked the oven before they went. Finn kept telling her to hurry, but her feet dragged. She knew what she'd hear when she got there, but until it happened, she could pretend.

* * *

The front door was broken. She'd gotten out her key but it opened at a touch. Carole and Finn exchanged a wary glance, and then, after steeling her resolve, Carole stepped over the threshold and into the Hummel house. It was like some scene out of a nightmare. Furniture was overturned. Broken glass was ground into the carpet. And Burt sat alone on the couch, looking even worse than he smelled as alcohol seemed to seep through his pores. He hadn't shaved in days. "Oh my God, Burt," Carole said as she stepped carefully across the broken shards on the floor and hurried to him. "What happened?"

"They took him."

"Who took Kurt?" Carole asked. She bent halfway over so she could meet his eyes where he sat. Finn flinched visibly at the use of the name, but it was time to move past any games. "Have you called the police? How long ago did they leave?"

"They won't help. No one will help."

"Burt!" She shook his shoulders. He moved limply with the motion. God, he was so broken. She'd thought that he always would fly into some unholy rage if Kurt were threatened; this was strange and unexpected and terrifying. A huge purple bruise covered one temple, but she would have expected him to take far worse in defending his son. "How long?"

"Three days."

Carole froze. "What?" Kurt had been gone for _three days_ and Burt hadn't tried to call the police or track him down? He'd simply sat here, drunk and surrounded by the broken remnants of the living room? "Burt!" He closed his eyes and started crying soft, wheezing sobs, and so with a deep breath Carole drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the chin.

He just rocked with the movement and then seemed to crumple further into himself.

It was all so unreal. Carole looked over her shoulder and found Finn staring at them with obvious, overwhelming terror. He didn't know what to do. Adults were supposed to be the ones to depend upon when something went wrong, and whatever had gone on it clearly had Finn far past scared. That Burt was gone, replaced by this weepy shell, made it all the worse. She took a deep breath, placed her hands on Burt's shoulders again, and squeezed until she knew it must hurt. "You have to tell me what happened. Who was here?" He let out another wet sob and she squeezed harder. "Who?"

Burt whispered something that she couldn't quite catch.

"What?" Carole asked.

"Collared. They collared him."

Nothing was making sense. Who 'collared' Kurt and tore apart the house to do it? Why hadn't anyone called the police? Even if Burt seemed broken over what had happened, the neighbors must have seen the attack. She'd met them before and they were good people. If they'd heard something as violent as the scene she saw around her, they would have called for help. They would have checked on him.

"Collared?" Finn repeated. "Like... like hunters?"

"Kurt's too old, Finn," Carole said shortly as she tried to focus. Of course 'collaring' had one connotation, but it was impossible and so she'd ignored it. The shudders under her hands made that certainty ebb. "He's... Burt, he's too old. That's not what happened. That couldn't be what happened."

"Mom?" Finn asked in a young, wavering voice. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on Burt, but he repeated it until she turned and acknowledged her son. Finn was bending over and picking something off the floor with trembling fingers. Her blood chilled when he stood with a long white feather in his hand. It was huge. She tore her stare away from it and began to search for others in the mess; to her horror, they were there. Big, small, sleek, fluffy. They were feathers from all the different parts of a wing.

"I tried to hide him," Burt choked out. "I tried. Didn't let anyone come near. God, he was so scared when he saw, and so was I but I promised him...." He let out a pained cry at the memory. "I tried to really help but I couldn't, so I just promised him. Promised him I'd keep him safe. And for weeks, it was okay... but then they came."

"No," Carole whispered. Her hands knotted around his shirt. "He grew...?"

Burt nodded. Tears trickled down his cheeks. "They came in so fast. We tried to stop them. I even cut them off. Oh God, he screamed so loud, Carole. He... I hurt him so bad. And they still came back."

"No way," Finn said. Like he'd forgotten that he was holding it, he seemed suddenly aware of the feather in his hands and tried to throw it away from him. It caught the air and glided lightly toward him. Finn cried out and scrambled further through the wreckage when the feather landed on his shoe. "Get it off," he cried as he tried to kick it away, but it floated gently back toward him in the vortex his movement made. He let out a strangled noise and bolted for the hallway.

"No!" Burt said. It was the loudest he'd been since their arrival, and he actually stood up like he was going to run after Finn.

Finn stopped with the basement door held open in his hand. He looked frantically between it and Burt, like he was waiting permission to be let down there to see for himself.

"You can't go down there," Burt said. "No one can go down. Everything's how he left it. You can't go down. No one can go down. Carole, tell him."

Barely able to control herself, Carole nodded and steered Burt back to the couch. "Finn, close the door," she said. She turned and saw Finn still looking down the stairs, and added softly, "Please, Finn. Just... just not now." With that implicit promise that perhaps some day he could go look, Finn let the door swing shut. Bizarrely, a shadow of hope had returned to Finn's expression, like he could still believe that Kurt was all right until he went down there to verify for himself.

There was no hope. Kurt was gone. They would never see him again. He was gone as surely as if he'd died, but dying would have been a kindness. Right now he was being hauled off for training... Carole let out a shuddering gasp and felt tears fall. He was being trained to _satisfy_ people. After years of that, when only a physical resemblance remained to the boy who'd once lived there, he would be sold to some unknown owner in a far corner of the world.

While she'd been growing furious at Burt, he'd been trying to fight off that day when Kurt would be stolen from him. It still arrived. The hunters came with their guns and dogs and no one would dare speak up about the damage they'd done to the house. No one would call for help. No one would even come to check on Burt. After all, he'd gotten the attention of a group allowed to run roughshod over the entire planet. He'd tried to fight back before he realized it was futile; the bruise on his forehead said that he'd done more than he gave himself credit for. No one would want to help a man who'd fought back, not until they were sure the cartel was long gone.

No one would want to help a man who'd fathered a _thing._ Scientists had no idea what caused the transformation. What if it were contagious?

And so he'd sat alone in his broken house for days, with bottles and cans piling up beside him. Carole had the sudden, cold certainty that if she hadn't answered the phone, he might not have seen the next sunrise. "Finn, I need to help Burt tonight," she said evenly. "You can go home or stay here. Whichever you'd like."

"I don't know," Finn said. "I don't... Mom, what should I do?"

If she broke down, everyone would. "I'm going to help Burt clean up," Carole said. "Why don't you get a trash bag and throw out garbage from the living room, Finn? And go get a blanket, get the couch ready to sleep on." She suspected he wanted to stay there, and from his look of relief she was right. It only made sense that he wouldn't want to be alone.

As soon as Finn had started work on that, Carole helped Burt to his feet and guided him toward the master bedroom. He still reeked of alcohol. She would need to force water on him as much as she could; he must be incredibly dehydrated. "Come on, Burt," she said softly. "You're going to take a shower and then I'll help you to bed." It was still light out, but she'd go to bed when he did. She was exhausted. Being asleep sounded much better than facing the world, although she feared her nightmares.

Necessity drove her to climb in there with him. Both were still in their underwear; there would be time for a more thorough wash in days to come. This was just about clawing him back from the brink and making him feel like a human being again.

 _Because his son isn't._

Carole shuddered under the pounding water. No. Kurt was Kurt. He still was... or at least, he was until they broke him and made him forget who he'd been. But it didn't change the fact that the rest of the world wouldn't call him human. They wouldn't call him 'him.'

Kurt was gone. He wasn't ever coming back. Wherever he was, he was trapped inside a golden collar and was shackled to a perfect pair of wings. All of that was impossible, but somehow it had happened.

 _Thank God it wasn't Finn._

Carole froze as Burt fumbled for the water and said he was tired, he wanted to go to sleep. It took her a moment to break through her crushing, total guilt and acknowledge what he'd said. "Of course, I'll get the towel," she said softly. He stood there as she patted him dry. Tomorrow she would shave his stubble for him. She would cook meals, put the house back together, and do whatever it took to make his life feel like it was being lived again.

She had to. It was only fair. She still had her son. If she kept herself busy, maybe she could keep herself from ever again feeling that horrible, shameful relief.

"I failed him, Carole," Burt whispered as she returned with a clean t-shirt and a loose pair of sweats. "He needed me. He didn't have anyone else in the world. And I couldn't keep him safe. What good am I?"

"I still need you," Carole said firmly as she guided him to his pillow and pressed him gently against it. He protested, like he didn't deserve an actual bed to sleep on. "And Finn needs you. So you have to get up tomorrow, okay?"

The alcohol seemed to be overtaking him again. A thick, muffled sob was her only answer. With a sigh, Carole picked up the bedside phone and dialed. When Finn answered on his cell phone, she spoke very quietly. "I'm in the bedroom. I need to stay in here. I'm sorry I can't come out there for you, but...."

"No. I'm okay," Finn said. She could hear the lie in his voice. He was being strong for her, because he knew she had to be strong for Burt.

"Thank you, Finn," Carole said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I love you very, very much."

"I love you too, Mom. I don't know how...." He was quiet for a long time. "I love you too."

Carole hung up and climbed onto the bed next to Burt. She began to rub small circles on his arm, but her fingers slowed and stilled when she realized a framed photograph was hanging on the wall opposite from her. Burt, looking much younger, was laughing and carrying his small son on his shoulders. Kurt looked simultaneously excited and scared that he would topple off his perch.

There would never be any more pictures like that.

Whenever someone took a picture of Kurt, those things would be behind him.

They'd take a picture of him before he went up for auction.

 _Thank God it wasn't Finn._

Carole allowed herself one long, sharp moment of hating herself. Then she tucked her chin against Burt's shoulder and promised herself that she would see him through this. She had to. She was the lucky one, and he had no one else left in the world.


	11. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an immediate follow-up to the previous chapter, "Days After."

Finn took hours to fall asleep that night. He'd gathered up most of the trash in the room but hadn't touched the feathers scattered across the floor. Part of him knew that they were the last sign Kurt had left of his presence, and Burt might want to hold on to them. Another part of him just didn't want to touch the things.

He'd cleaned. He'd dusted, at least as well as he knew how. He took out the trash, alphabetized DVDs, and looked critically at the broken front lock like he had any idea how to replace it. So long as he kept busy, it meant that he didn't have to think. But finally, late that night, he pulled out the Febreze, sprayed down the couch, and sprawled across the sheets fresh from the linen closet.

They didn't smell like the linens at home. The laundry room there had different dryer sheets. Kurt was very picky about that sort of thing.

Finn stared at the shadows moving across the ceiling and tried to picture what the wings would look like. From the feathers on the floor, he assumed they were all white. They'd be big. Would the wings move or just hang there? He'd paid some attention to Angels, but not a lot. He'd only really looked at still photographs. Rachel would be the one to ask. Rachel really liked them. She'd know what was happening to Kurt.

He should be more worried, right? He'd been terrified earlier. Now, though, given the chance to think things over more, he was settling into an eerie calm. Things just didn't happen like this. People weren't just _stolen._ He could accept that something bad had happened. But for Kurt to be gone forever, just like that... nah. It was impossible.

It was impossible, Finn repeated to himself. Kurt was fine. This wasn't a huge deal. Things would all work out.

Relief began to lull him to sleep. Everything would work out, Finn thought drowsily as he tugged a blanket up to his shoulders and nuzzled against the pillow. It'd be fine. They'd figure out what to do in the morning.

* * *

"Mom?" Finn asked softly when he heard her making breakfast the next morning. The sound of toast popping up had served as his alarm clock. "What should I do now?"

Her hand whisked across the toast, spreading jam. "I hate to ask this of you, Finn...."

"It's okay," he said immediately. Because things would be okay, right?

"Could you tell Kurt's friends?" She turned, teary-eyed. "Pretty soon they'll start asking here, and forcing Burt to tell them would just...."

"Yeah, sure," Finn immediately promised. "Yeah, I'll talk to people." He'd call Rachel first. Rachel could fill him in on what they needed to do next, and so he'd be in good position when he talked to the rest of their friends. "Then what?" he asked. It seemed like they should be calling people to figure out how to get Kurt back. But you probably had to be a grown-up to do that, so it made sense that they weren't involving him.

"We'll just take this one step at a time," Carole said.

That made sense. Finn hugged her from behind, mimicking the motion he'd made in their own kitchen the afternoon before, and promised he'd handle everything. And he _would_ handle it. Everything would be fine.

Time to call Rachel. She'd tell him what to do.

* * *

"Finn?" Rachel asked curiously as they met in the parking lot of a bookstore roughly halfway between her house and Kurt's. Finn had picked it because of that convenience, and because he figured no one would go to a bookstore unless they had to. Sure enough, at that time of morning the parking lot was empty except for them. "Why did you want to meet here?"

"I have some weird stuff to ask you," Finn said as she climbed into his truck and closed the door behind her. "I don't know. It felt better being away from people."

"All right," she said with a glimmer of excitement. She probably thought it was about relationship stuff.

"You've talked about wanting an Angel, right? You know all about them?"

Her face lit up even more. "Oh, of course. Being able to show off such a symbol will mark my success in a way that not even a Tony could." She considered that. "Well, really, I want both. And yes, I've read everything about them. I'm quite knowledgeable."

"That's good," Finn said slowly. He knew Angels were expensive and really, really hot, but that was about it. (Would he think _Kurt_ was hot when he saw him again? That would be so weird. Whoa.) "Um, what happens when they're captured?"

"Oh, I don't pay as much attention to that part of it," Rachel said airily, but really seemed to consider the question when Finn made insistent little noises. "Well, they're trained for a while. At least a year, I think."

At least a _year?_ "Trained to do... what?" Finn asked.

"Whatever their owners want," Rachel said. "Literally whatever. It's really amazing. Of course, it doesn't work perfectly. Sometimes they still cause trouble and you have to use their collars on them." At his questioning expression, she gestured to her throat and explained, "It's like those shock collars for dogs, you know? It's just a little zap to tell them they've been bad. It fires like that," she added, snapping her fingers.

He knew Kurt had been collared, since he knew all Angels wore collars. He didn't know they gave them little zaps. Why would you do that? "What do people... do with them?" Finn asked, beginning to feel scared like he'd been the night before.

Rachel tittered. "Finn, why are you asking me this? You know everything. I mean, you were right there in the choir room when Puck would give his, well. His explicit talks."

Two facets of reality warred in Finn's mind. He knew they'd talked about sex with Angels. He also knew— _knew_ —that whatever had happened to Kurt, it wouldn't be that bad and everything could be fixed. He just didn't know how to make those two truths work together. He bit his lip for a second and asked, "Would you have sex with one?"

She blushed. "Finn. I don't... are you asking because you think it would be cheating? When I own one, it won't be a person. It'll be fine. I'll be perfectly faithful."

Finn began to stare at Rachel like he was in the truck with a stranger. "Rachel, would you have sex with an Angel?"

"Well, of course," she finally said. Her blush deepened. "I mean... it is one of the main reasons you buy them, after all. To have this perfect thing that wants to please you and make you happy. This is... I'm not really comfortable discussing it. You and I haven't even... I mean, we've talked a little, but...." She trailed off into nervous giggles. "This would be so much easier with my Angel!" she finally added. "They wouldn't want to ask me things."

Finn's stomach flipped over like pancakes. "But what if your Angel didn't want to have sex? Would you force things?"

She gasped and seemed genuinely offended. "Finn Hudson! What a horrible thing to say. Of course I would never force anything to do _that._ " But as soon as he'd relaxed, she continued. "You don't have to force them. They like it. They really do. They like being touched and looking pretty. I know some people deliberately hurt them during, um. During. But sex can be a caring, gentle thing."

For a while there was only the sound of their breathing. He couldn't look away from the girl he'd thought he'd known. If Rachel was like this—Rachel, his Rachel—then what the hell kind of strangers was Kurt dealing with right now? She eventually grew too nervous under his stare and asked, "Finn, why are we having this conversation?"

"Kurt got collared."

Rachel stared uncomprehendingly back. "What?"

"They took him. Hunters. I didn't... I just wanted to find out what he was going through until we got him back." Finn swallowed. "You can get them back, right? You just have to find where they are and... and fill out some forms or something. Right?"

Her face was very pale. "This isn't funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny...."

"Say you're lying, Finn. He's too old." Rachel suddenly seemed to take up twice as much of the small cab. Her voice screeched like a demon's. "Say you're lying!"

"It's why he's been gone so long. Burt told us. They were trying to hide him, but—" Pain flared across his face and he realized that Rachel had actually _slapped_ him. "Ow!" he said, clutching his jaw and staring at her in disbelief.

"Say you're lying!" she begged. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Mascara ran in dark streaks.

"I'm not lying!" Finn said. "Ow. I saw the feathers, I touched one. They're all white. And then I freaked out when I realized they'd come from him, that he'd actually grown them... Rachel!" She'd flung the door open and had nearly fallen to the asphalt. Finn hurriedly opened his door and ran around the truck to join her. She was throwing noisily up against the pavement by the time he got there.

"They're not people," Rachel said when she'd finally stopped heaving. By the end only little strings of bile were coming out. "They're not... they're _not._ They're not supposed to be... oh God."

He knelt down, ignoring the puddle of vomit, and gently rubbed her upper arms. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. Calm down. I need you to tell me what to do now, okay? You know more about this than I do."

"Do?" Rachel repeated disbelieving. "We don't do anything. He's gone."

"No he's not," Finn said. "I mean, they took him. But he can't be gone. Not really. I just have to know how to get him back."

"Kurt is never coming back, Finn," Rachel said. He began to argue. When she said the word again, her voice echoed off the building walls nearby. "Never!"

He flinched away and she took the opportunity to run. Though he could have caught her when she reached her car door and fumbled for her keys, Finn let her drive away. It was too fast. She screeched as she turned, and was probably putting herself in danger. But he didn't feel like he could move.

Rachel knew more about this than he did. Rachel said Angels had to have sex and that they were punished when they didn't do what people told them. And Rachel was supposed to tell him that it would be okay, but instead she said that Kurt was gone forever.

The same fluttery, panicky feeling that had wrapped Finn the night before began to settle back into his gut. "Mercedes," he decided. She wasn't into Angels like Rachel was, but she knew Kurt. She'd know where to find him. And then they could get him back.

* * *

"Hey!" Mercedes said brightly when she let Finn in. "You caught me by surprise. I... did someone slap you?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah." Finn swallowed. "Rachel."

"Makes sense," Mercedes said with a shrug. "It's a tiny little handprint. It was either gonna be her or some really angry baby."

"She's little," Finn agreed and walked past Mercedes into her house. He picked a random direction, was pleased to end up in the living room, and took a seat on the couch.

"You okay?" she asked as she followed him slowly there.

"I don't know." Finn swallowed hard. Mercedes vanished and returned with a bottle of iced tea; he took a drink gratefully. "Hey, have you talked to Kurt much?"

"Not that much," she said. She flopped into a chair opposite him. "I mean, he's really tired." Finn frowned and Mercedes explained, "You know, he's got mono. That's why he can't see anyone."

"Oh," Finn said. He took another drink and realized his hands were shaking.

"He's so upset," Mercedes giggled. "Shared a drink in one of the last classes of the year and _bam_ , he got sick and is gonna miss half his summer. He's only texted me. He says it's super-contagious. But it should probably heal up pretty soon, right?"

"No, I think it's permanent," Finn said distantly. He could hear Burt's words echo in his mind, rasping against the sides of his skull like sandpaper. They'd tried to cut them off. They grew back. It hurt Kurt so bad.

"Mono doesn't last forever, weirdo," Mercedes said. When he didn't respond, her good mood seemed to slip away in tiny droplets. "Finn? Why'd you come here?"

Thinking back on it, Finn realized that letting Rachel talk so much might have had something to do with how poorly she reacted. Maybe it was better to just tell people flat-out. Like ripping off a band-aid. Then they could get past the worst of everything and figure out how to save Kurt. "Kurt, um, doesn't have mono. He never did. Or... or if he did, that's not why he kept you away."

"Did he talk to you?" Mercedes asked. She sounded hurt that he'd talked to Finn before her.

"No. Um. Burt did. His dad. You know, that's his dad. The names. Obviously. I don't know why I'm talking about this, I was going to say...." Finn forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. "Burt was actually hiding Kurt because he grew wings and hunters came and collared him a few days ago."

Mercedes was absolutely still.

"And I'm supposed to tell people," Finn finished. "And then we can figure out how to get him back."

"Get out," Mercedes said calmly.

"Um. Huh?"

"I don't know why you think this is funny to lie about, Finn Hudson, but it is not. My boy has mono, he is in his bedroom right now, and in a couple of weeks we are going to go to the movies."

"But we have to talk about this so we can figure out how to make it okay," Finn protested. "And no one will do it!"

"If this were true, which it's _not_ ," she said angrily, "then it can't be fixed. So you are wrong, Finn. He has mono."

"There are feathers everywhere," Finn said, as that had seemed to cut through Rachel's arguments. "They're white. Pure white. Top to bottom."

Mercedes froze. Her lip quivered. As with Rachel, that one tiny detail of knowing what color they were seemed to make everything real. "No," she whispered. "He can't... he has mono. He said he has mono. He can't be...."

"I know it's scary," Finn said as he stood, walked across the room, and knelt next to her. He rested his hand on top of hers; it twitched below him like she wanted to pull away. "I really freaked last night when I found out. Touching one of the feathers was like... oh my God, how is this real? He can't grow one of these! He's a person! But then I thought about it for a few hours and I realized that it'll all work out."

"Why will it work out?" Mercedes asked dully. Her eyes were red with tears.

"Because it has to," Finn said. "It... it has to."

"Can you please go, now?" she asked. Her voice was thick and raspy. "I need to have a little talk with someone."

"I... sure. I need to tell everyone else." The absolute certainty that _things would work out_ began to weaken in his chest. It was a jack o'lantern well after Halloween, ready to crumple in on itself at a touch. He squeezed her hand, stood, and walked to the door. She didn't say a farewell as he left, and when he looked back at Mercedes he saw that she was praying.

* * *

No one believed him until they heard about pure white feathers.

He went through every single person in the club and heard the same things each time. Kurt was too old. It happened to people five years younger than them. It just wasn't true. It _wasn't true_... until they knew that Finn had touched one of his pure white feathers.

Finn didn't know all that much about Angels, but he knew a lot of them had white wings. It probably would have been the best guess. But actually knowing for sure meant something different entirely.

"Mom's still over with Burt," Finn said to the shell-shocked group in his home living room. Mercedes hadn't come over, but he wasn't too surprised. She was Kurt's best friend. It'd be hardest for her, and he understood if she wanted to be alone. She was probably still praying. Rachel just wasn't answering her phone. Finn hoped she was okay. "He's... he's in pretty bad shape."

"Oh my God," Mike mumbled. "How does... I just don't...."

"Pretty much," Artie said. His blank stare was fixed on the opposite wall.

"What do you think causes it?" Everyone turned to Quinn when she asked her quiet question. Some looked offended at the seeming diversion; others were just confused. Quinn cleared her throat and said, "You're right. It normally happens at a younger age. Why do you think Kurt...?"

"Does it matter?" Puck asked. "People broke into his house with fucking guns and kidnapped him!"

"They _collared_ him," Quinn said. "Look, I know everyone is upset—"

"You _think?_ " Tina said bitterly.

Quinn shot her a dark look. "But the laws says they can do that. It wasn't 'kidnapping.' Every single country on earth says Kurt was legally theirs. So I'm not sure what we're supposed to do." Finn stared at her in disbelieving betrayal; it sounded like she didn't care at all that Kurt had been taken. She looked apologetic when she noticed how hurt Finn was, she really did, but she also looked resigned. Like it was just how the world worked and they didn't have a hope of fighting back.

Another realization struck him on a delayed timer: even with her fresh expression of apology, she seemed more concerned about how Finn was taking it than she did about Kurt himself.

"It can just happen?" Santana asked unhappily in the tense, awkward silence that followed. "Like... fuck, you know? You're supposed to be safe."

"This is bullshit," Puck decided. "You can't just take someone."

"That's really rich coming from you," Tina said thinly. "You know, considering all of the disgusting things you used to say. You were going to force strangers into having sex with you and it would be awesome. But now that you know someone, you actually care?"

"I wasn't going to _force_...." Puck gritted his teeth. "Look. This is different."

"No, it's not," Tina said. "This is exactly what's going on with all those _people._ Which is kind of what I've been trying to tell all of you forever."

"Can we please shut up and think about Kurt?" Artie asked, and everyone nodded and calmed down. Brittany couldn't seem to get her eyes to focus; it was like she was picturing Kurt, wherever he'd been taken. Mike shook occasionally. Quinn wrapped her arms around herself and shot occasional glances around the room, as if she were uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to leave. Finn would be upset at that if not for how Mercedes and Rachel couldn't even bring themselves to show up. It probably meant that Quinn cared so much that it hurt and she didn't want to be near people when she started crying. Quinn hated for people to see her cry.

"We'll go get him," Puck abruptly said. "We'll find out where he is and we'll just... we'll bring him back."

"What?" Santana asked in total disbelief.

Finn's eyes widened and he grinned at Puck. It was exactly the sort of thing he'd wanted to hear. Yes. They would find Kurt and they would fix everything. "Rachel said that they get taken to training places first. So he'd be there, right? We just have to find out where it is."

"Yeah, okay!" Puck said excitedly. "We'll just go all Cobra Commando on that place and... and wait until they're putting him into a truck or something. Or maybe it'd be better when he's at an owner's place," he mused. "The cartel runs those training places, right? They've got killer security. Some random billionaire probably just has dogs or something. You can just throw them drugged meat, I bet, and—"

"Shut the hell up," Santana said. "Oh my God, are you even listening to yourself right now?"

"At least I'm trying to help!" Puck shouted back. "What are you doing?"

"Being realistic. You are a football player on a terrible team, not some SEAL on a mission. That is your whole pathetic life. And you think you're going to track Kurt down across the planet?" Santana looked between the boys in obvious, patronizing disbelief. "How? With your magic video game arsenal? Well, guess what: if you take one step within a hundred yards of Kurt, you'll wind up dead or behind bars. And I bet you'll seriously wish that life had a 'reload' button."

Santana's rant cut through the room and left everyone still and subdued. Finn felt a heavy weight settle on his chest. It worsened when he noticed that Quinn had slipped away without saying goodbye. "But... but we have to do something."

"If you talk to him, you go to jail. You try to find him, you go to jail. You touch him, you go to jail until your teeth fall out."

"I know you're a bitch, Santana," Tina said quietly. "I know you don't care about the people around you. But this is a big enough deal that you could at least pretend."

"I am caring," Santana shot back. "Kurt is gone. Gee oh nee ee. He's sailed over the side of a frickin' waterfall, and I'm the only person telling people not to try to swim after him. Yeah. It sucks. There is nothing we can do. Nothing."

Finn looked up from where his hands were worrying at the hem of his shirt. He'd stretched it out, doing that. It might be ruined. Kurt would be upset that he'd ruined clothing. Or maybe he would hate that shirt and say it was all for the best. Kurt _needed_ to see the shirt, so Finn could know if he'd be upset or not. Flashing back to what Rachel had talked about as a clueless owner-to-be, Finn hesitantly said, "But... but they make Angels do... stuff."

"Yeah," Santana said. She turned to look at Puck. "They rape them."

Puck's hands twitched where they lay against his legs, and he didn't say anything.

The 'r' word hit Finn like a blow to the gut. _Rape._ But Kurt would be okay. _Rape._ He had to come home. _Owners raped their Angels._ The cartel would realize they'd made a mistake and let Kurt go. _At the training facilities, they got shocked and trained until they stopped fighting back._ Finn's head started pounding, and clutching it and fighting back a moan only made the pain worse. "We have to do something," Finn said, but it was so quiet that only he heard.

"I don't... I think I want to go home," Mike said and stood without waiting for good-byes. It breached a dam and everyone found excuses to leave. Some cried, some kept on stoic faces. But they all left and soon Finn was alone in his house.

He slept in his own bed that night. He wondered what the beds in the training place were like. Hopefully they were comfortable. If nothing else, Kurt should have a comfortable bed.

"I thought you'd come back to Burt's," Carole said the next day when she swung by to pick up a few more pieces of clothing.

Burt's agony was a constant reminder that Santana was right. It was hopeless. Kurt was gone, because he was an Angel now and Angels got raped and sold and treated like a bad dog with their collars. "I don't want to go over there, Mom." He wanted to stay in his room, in a house that had never had feathers scattered across its carpet. In his own, safe home, the truths Santana had told were a little easier to ignore.

She looked disappointed in him. It hurt. "Finn, he really needs us. He needs us more than I've ever seen anyone need another person, okay?"

"I don't...." Finn closed his eyes and didn't continue. He knew he was being selfish. He just wanted to stay where it was easier to pretend, where he could wrap himself in that one night of knowing that everything would be fine.

"We're all he has." Carole looked down. Suddenly she seemed very old to Finn. "We're all he'll ever have."

"Mom, don't talk like that," Finn pleaded. It had to work out. It just had to. It had to. He felt like a toddler stamping his feet. It had to it had to _it had to._ It had... a choked sob escaped him. "It's just... this isn't fair."

"I know, baby," Carole said as she wrapped him in a hug. "It's not. It's not."


	12. Days Ahead

**July 2, 2011**

"Hi, Finn," Rachel Berry said into her cell phone as she stared at a wall of flight status monitors. "My connection is delayed half an hour." The Denver airport had a terribly bumpy approach. She wasn't looking forward to getting back in the air.

"Cool, thanks for calling," he said. "I'll stop and get a burger to eat up time." He'd just gotten on the road to make her airport pickup. She'd felt bad at first, as she discovered she was asking him to make a six hour round trip, but he assured her he didn't mind. The drive there was pretty and he got to blast music instead of helping around the house.

Her knuckles went white around the armrest as her plane finally took off and she felt it tilt wildly around her. "It'll stop once we're up a little higher," her seatmate assured her, smiling. Rachel tried to smile back. The wind sweeping off the Rockies was brutal. She looked out her window and was again taken aback at their sheer size; Ohio had nothing like them.

Their flight did steady itself as they climbed and she was able to focus on the landscape below her. Though her seatmate occasionally tried to engage her in conversation, Rachel's distraction eventually led him to stick his nose in a book. She barely noticed. Her fingertips traced over the plane window and she found herself nearly pressing her cheek against it. That close to it, she barely saw any of the surrounding frame. She just saw the clouds with the ground far below.

Was this what it looked like to him?

Finn was waiting for her when she walked through the airport security exit. "Hey!" he said, holding out his arms. She leaned into them and accepted her hug gladly. "Welcome to mountain time. Set back your watch."

"They already told me that on the plane," Rachel giggled as they headed to the baggage carousel. "But you're being quite the thoughtful tour guide, Finn."

He grinned. "Mercedes wanted to try this restaurant on the lake for lunch one day. We couldn't figure out why she wanted to go at ten in the morning." Her suitcase was one of the first off the conveyor and she pointed to it; Finn picked it up with an easy motion. "Good flight?"

"Mostly," Rachel said, deciding not to linger on the horror that had been flying in and out of Denver. "So how are you?"

"I'm _really_ good," Finn said emphatically as they began to walk to his truck. The heat rose off the ground outside like an oven. It was incredibly dry and she could smell a lingering odor of far-off smoke, presumably from a wildfire; she hoped it wasn't like that at their house. "The only thing I'm worried about is school starting up again, but that's just because I'm still the new weird kid. These guys all know each other since preschool and I'm the dude who moved in on a movie star's land. You know?"

"Right," Rachel said knowingly. She hesitated. "Is he, um, around this week?"

Finn smirked and unlocked the door for her. "No."

Damn. "How is... everyone?"

"Burt's good. I don't think there's enough traffic around there to really make enough on the new garage, but it helps. The real money's gonna come in on donations for what we're doing for Angels." Finn grinned. "We all just kind of ignore that and pretend that he's handling everything; it makes him happy."

"And you mentioned that your mom is pregnant?"

"Yeah," Finn said as they paid to leave the parking lot and he focused for a while on making the right turns onto the interstate and merging through heavy traffic. "Here, tell me when I hit this exit," he told Rachel, handing her a scribbled set of instructions. She focused intently on her task as he continued. "Yeah, she's really showing. It's weird. She's got people inside her."

"People?" Rachel repeated in surprise.

"Oh, didn't I say? Twins. Girls, they think." Finn shrugged. "Which is cool, I guess. It'll all balance out with two girls."

"Isn't that risky, at her age?" Rachel hesitantly asked. The stress of the move, coupled with the stress of everything _before_ the move... it had to be a lot to ask of a woman who already had a near-adult son.

Finn glanced at her almost nervously. Rachel peered curiously back until she realized that the exit was approaching. She directed him there, and for another few minutes he focused on finding the right way to the smaller highway that would lead them through the mountains. "You're the one person I can really trust to keep stuff secret about Kurt, right? With the lawyer stuff, how mad you were about how he got treated...."

"Of course you can, Finn. I'd never dream of saying anything." Worry began to bubble up. "Is something wrong with him?"

"No, no! It's just... do you remember when I came to school all shaken up, and Kurt said there was an accident?" She nodded; she remembered that phone call. She'd mentioned Kurt's explanation to Finn after it, along with her joy that he was all right. "It wasn't just an accident. I nearly died. I _was_ dying. A car slipped and it crushed me, and I was bleeding a lot and...." Finn swallowed and visibly forced himself to stop thinking about what it had been like under that vehicle. "Kurt saved me."

"He got you out from under the car?" Rachel asked in confusion.

"No. He... you won't tell anyone. Right? Right?"

"I swear on my life, I will not tell anyone."

That seemed to mollify him. Finn took a deep breath and continued, "His blood heals him and keeps him young. Right, you knew that. Well, it does the same to other people. He just bled all over me and saved my life. So, worst case scenario, if something goes wrong and Mom gets sick, he can just cut open his hand again."

"Oh," Rachel said in a tiny voice. How was that possible? That was like something out of a fairy tale. Everything about Kurt seemed so impossible, now.

"But we're trying to hold off for her until they're born," Finn continued. "We figured out that it doesn't _change_ people at all when they're older. But just in case, unless it's an emergency...." His voice quieted. "Just in case there'd be any risk when they grew up."

"That makes sense," Rachel agreed just above a murmur. Fetuses were terribly malleable; she knew the mother's diet even affected their tastes. If that magical blood had any chance of similarly affecting them... no parent would condemn their children to that future. Her fingers twisted around the material of her skirt. "You talked about your parents, but... but how's he doing?"

Finn glanced away from the road for a moment. He flashed her a smile and kept smiling when he looked back at the windshield. "He's really happy."

"Really?" Rachel asked in a tiny, hopeful voice.

"Really. Hey, you want to stop and get something to eat before we leave the city? It's a long drive ahead."

"Didn't you eat on the way down?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah," Finn said, like that didn't mean anything. She laughed and pointed to the first place that looked appealing.

* * *

For all her determination to enjoy the beautiful drive, Rachel dozed off halfway through it. Two long flights and two thousand miles had abruptly caught up with her. The sun beating down through the windows, coupled with the low rumbling of the tires, lulled her to sleep.

"Hey," she later heard and felt a hand nudging her ribcage. Rachel yawned, smacked her lips against the stale taste in her mouth, and sat up. They were turning off a small highway onto a long gravel road. A garage's sign had nearly passed them before she realized that they must be on their land, and were ascending the hillside toward their house. She was suddenly excited and sat up in her seat.

After a few bends in the road, when they'd driven past occasional trees and into the forest proper, the house was suddenly in front of them. It was beautiful, a perfect model of western architecture, with stone and heavy beams. It also seemed _huge_. They must have gotten some very generous help already.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Finn said happily as he pulled into a detached garage and turned off the engine.

"It's enormous," Rachel said despite herself.

"Not as big as it looks," Finn shrugged. "A lot of it's just that tall middle part, because Kurt likes to be up high."

Rachel looked at that high roof and let out a soft "oh."

Finn continued without noticing her reaction. He apparently didn't give a second thought to anything different about Kurt. "Well, it's not that huge yet, anyway. We built two extra rooms for the girls, and then a guest suite for friends coming by. Or for when we have people wanting to do big donations, but that's in the future, I think. They're planning ahead." Finn shrugged. "It's really not my thing."

With an almost physical effort, Rachel focused on what Finn was saying. "What's 'your thing?'" she asked cheerfully. "I mean, what are you doing here? What are you planning after graduation?"

"Whatever they need me to do, I guess," Finn said. He lifted the pickup's cover and retrieved her suitcase from the bed. "Sounds like it might be building cabins, maybe. They'll be for the Angels we rescue," he explained when he saw her confusion. "So that'll keep me busy for a while."

She smiled uncomfortably. It wasn't a happy reminder, but it was true enough: unless there was some radical change in the world, they would have a very long time to work on this refuge of theirs before the first freed Angel ever arrived. "I would really love to go freshen up," Rachel finally said. It was cooler than the city, but she still wanted air conditioning.

The house was just as beautiful on the inside. Broad flagstones paved the entryway and more heavy wood supported a large, airy atrium. She kicked off her shoes with the others there and took a few steps further in. A living room was at the bottom of the huge space, and many other areas seemed to branch off it: a kitchen, a dining room, what looked like a hallway to the master bedroom. A staircase to her right might lead to her room, she speculated.

Instead, Finn pointed to another hallway she'd overlooked. "Suite's down there." When she looked curious about what was upstairs, he continued, "Girls' rooms are on the second floor. They left some space open in case we need to build for more kids, too." He looked faintly pained at the oblique mention of his parents having sex. "Then there are a couple of rooms and an office way up at the top; I grabbed one up there for privacy. And like I said, Kurt likes to be up high."

She realized she'd been staring up through the atrium's open space at that third story and shook her head to clear it. "I'm going to go wash up," Rachel said. "And then I'll say hello."

"Cool," Finn said and gave her a thumbs-up. "I'm gonna go check on a couple of things, then I'll tell him you're here."

Rachel nodded as Finn left her there with one last gesture toward her suite. She glanced at it, but her nerves suddenly overtook her. Leaving her suitcase in the front hall, she began ascending the stairs.

All spring semester she'd tried to continue their efforts with their social activism group, but hardly anyone in Lima even wanted to talk to them. Quinn had taken the worst of the blame for the footballers' injuries. Even Kurt was pointed to as being too tempting and irresponsibly stepping away from the oversight of his owner. Burt was blamed too, of course. It was disgusting. But New Directions was still the group of people who cared more about an Angel than people, and so they were even more of social pariahs than ever before.

Many of the newcomers who'd joined New Directions didn't show up again after winter break. Of the ones who did stuck around, there was a disturbing interest in where Finn had gone. It was disheartening, to say the least.

She _had_ to make a difference, though. She'd barely been able to bring herself to look at Kurt before he left, and now he lingered in her mind like some nagging reminder of her guilty conscience. She, Tina, and Mercedes had become networking wizards on Facebook. Already they had hopes of finding receptive ears on a few college campuses. Social awareness seemed to be much higher there than in their high school.

Just as she ascended the last step, a heavy, low bark sounded through the house. If Rachel hadn't still been holding onto the railing she might have fallen back down the stairs. A huge dog bounded out of one of the doors; she vaguely remembered the animal from their good-bye visit to Kurt and Finn. It glowered at her and barked again.

"Hercules!" said a familiar voice. "What are you... Rachel!" Kurt said brightly as he poked his head out of his room. Rachel swallowed hard when one white wing also came into view and made a deliberate effort to not look at anything but his face. "I didn't hear you come in. Granted, I had my headphones on maximum." He grinned. "I never have to worry about damaging my hearing."

"Great," she said with false cheer. Her focus on his face made it difficult even to blink, and her eyes were starting to burn.

"Well, come here," he said as he walked out of his room and extended his arms for a hug. She squeaked softly as he pulled her in; he smelled like springtime. Her eyes screwed shut and she tried not to think about anything but respectable, responsible social awareness projects. "Did you have a good flight?"

As she pulled away and could once again look at him, Rachel found herself too distracted to lie. "No, it was horrible and bumpy and I am so glad to be on the ground."

Kurt grimaced. "Oh. Sorry to hear that. Was it... Rachel?" he asked with some amusement.

"Yes?" she said, staring so fixedly at his nose that it started to blur. His face looked so strange: smooth and perfect and almost glowing when the light hit it, like he was standing behind some flattering camera filter. His eyes had been an unbelievably intense blue the last time she'd seen them, but on that day they'd shifted a bit toward green and were more aquamarine than sapphire. And around him, forming a white halo in her peripheral vision....

"You can look at them."

Her face darkened. "Oh. I. Kurt, I didn't mean... that's not why I came...."

"I know it's not," he laughed. "But you were trying so hard not to look at them that I just saw you go cross-eyed. It's fine! I know I can trust you."

But could he? Really? She might leave high school as a dedicated campaigner for Angel rights, but she'd entered it as someone who desperately wanted to be a slaveowner. People— _people_ —like Kurt would have been ripped away from their families and tortured in order to make her happy. She'd work her fingers to the bone to make up for that, but how could someone like him trust her? "I actually want to freshen up," she said. "If you don't mind? I came right up to say hello, but...."

"Of course," Kurt said. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him hold Hercules' collar so the dog wouldn't follow her downstairs. "Don't worry, as soon as we spend some time together he'll accept you. He's just very protective."

"That's good," Rachel said, though she meant that Kurt was protected rather than her not having to worry about a dog for a week. She wiggled her fingers at both of them and then hurried down the stairs, to her suitcase, and into the guest suite.

Her face was still flushed when she closed the bedroom door and retreated to the bathroom. She'd barely allowed herself any time around Kurt when he was still in Ohio, and in the months in-between he really had built up into some sort of mythical symbol in her head. It was no wonder she was reacting like this.

After a moment of thought, Rachel plucked a few tubes out of her toiletries bag and hopped into the shower. She told herself that the cold water was because of the warm summer temperatures lurking outside.

* * *

Burt and Carole were very welcoming when they showed up that evening. When Burt mentioned that he'd seen them driving past the garage but recognized Finn's truck, Rachel realized just how tense their lives still were. Even with the isolation of their new home, every single newcomer was a potential threat. As for Carole, Rachel reacted to her size before she could help it. It wasn't that she was huge, but it was still quite a change from their last meeting in Ohio.

"I'm already a house, aren't I?" Carole asked good-naturedly as she rested a hand on her belly.

"No, no, you look wonderful!" Rachel assured her. "Congratulations."

"Hey, ah, Rachel?" Burt asked. He still sounded a little unsure around her, as they'd seldom interacted. "I just wanted to say thanks for helping us out."

She blinked. "What?"

"Talking to the ACLU. The lawyers helped with the move, they took some weight off our shoulders, and they put us in touch with, well...." He gestured at the house around them. "We wouldn't have this place, otherwise. Any of it."

"Oh," Rachel said. She hadn't realized her actions had held so much of an impact. "I... well. You're welcome, of course. I'm just glad I could help." It was funny that he'd mentioned weight lifting off their shoulders. At that knowledge that she'd really helped Kurt in some quantifiable way, she could feel some of her own concern fall away.

The parents seemed suddenly awkward standing around their sons' friend. "Finn's still out, so why don't you go say hi to Kurt?" Carole suggested. "He probably thinks you're still in the shower." There was the implication there that Kurt had a very skewed idea of what a normal shower length was, which made Rachel smile a bit.

She still felt that strange squirming in her stomach, but now she might be able to manage it. "I'll go do that," Rachel said and walked up the stairs. Each one sent a little shiver of joy up her. She'd helped build that house. She'd helped keep Kurt safe. That made up for a _lot_ , didn't it? It had to.

Softly calling his name when she approached got no response, so Rachel risked walking up to his door and pushing it open. The sight inside made her bite down on her knuckle so she wouldn't giggle. Kurt had earbuds in again and was dancing around, eyes closed. He turned away from her and Rachel gasped softly at the sudden prominence of the wings, but then completed the circle and opened his eyes. "Rachel!" he said, fumbling out the earbuds. "I thought you'd be busy for a while, still."

"And I thought you would sing along to music," she said, pointing at his iPod.

"New singles," he explained. "I'm still learning the words."

"Makes sense." She cast a wary glance around the room for that huge dog and relaxed when she didn't see him. "It's so good to see you smiling, Kurt."

He asked her inside and motioned to a chair in the corner, then took a seat on the end of his bed. "Finn took Hercules with him," Kurt explained. "I saw you looking. He likes to go for car rides."

"He is very large," Rachel replied in what she thought was a tremendous understatement, and then looked around his room. Light surrounded her; his large windows were angled to take advantage of the sun as it moved across the sky. Below the clouds she could see countless trees. Birds darted between them. "It's really beautiful here. I'm so happy that you're happy."

"You already said that. Sort of." He twisted himself around so he was flat on the bed. Wings twitched until any disturbed feathers fell back into place; Rachel swallowed and tried not to stare. "So, how have you been? I mean, I do love it here, but I am seriously isolated. Just _how_ isolated has definitely sunk in. Phone calls and online bands do not make up for seeing people every day."

"Oh, it's been great," Rachel said unconvincingly. She couldn't possibly talk about how the boys who'd attacked him—and lived through it—were now the most beloved figures in their school for making it through their 'tragedy.' Or how the ones who did die had flower-covered graves.

"That bad, huh?" Kurt asked. He saw her about to lie and scooted forward a bit to close the distance between them. "It's okay. You can tell me. I can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

Kurt hesitated. "I'll stop you if I can't."

That he knew some things would be too much for him, even after so long, saddened Rachel. "Did Mercedes tell you about the case against the boys?" Even if the Jones family had no ability to bring any justice regarding Kurt himself, they could still go after the people who'd attacked their house and sent them to the hospital.

"No," Kurt said. "She always had something else to talk about when she came for her visit."

Ah, well. That made sense. Mercedes had probably just wanted a nice vacation with her friend to replace the memories of their terrible last night together. "They were convicted on property damage and assault charges." She saw Kurt about to perk up, and apologetically finished, "The judge said that, given their subsequent injuries, he was only assigning twenty days of community service, to be completed when they're physically capable. There's another ten for the underaged drinking; the driver got more, at least. I suppose that and the physical therapy was deemed to be suitable punishment for everything."

"Of course he did," Kurt said sadly.

"Kurt...."

"I don't actually want people to be punished forever," he said, but continued, "but it would be nice if they pretended to _think_ about it." He shook his head. "But after all, we didn't bring charges for, um." Swallowing, Kurt finished, "For me. So technically that wasn't being considered at all, right?"

"Right," Rachel agreed weakly. She'd followed the news stories about that night. Even though they'd made her physically ill, not knowing would have been even worse. Between those and Finn she had a decent picture of what had happened, and it was horrifying. She'd only been in their home for an hour and she'd successfully ruined her entire trip, it felt like. "We should talk about something else."

"Good idea," Kurt said. "So... what are you doing now?"

"I've been doing a lot of vocal lessons this summer. And of course it's almost time to start on college applications... oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up."

He smiled awkwardly. His beautiful eyes looked so sad. "I had this panicky moment last spring when I thought about signing up for the SAT. I didn't know where they would offer it around here. And a few seconds later I corrected myself: no, Kurt, you don't actually need to worry about that. Ever."

Oh, wasn't she just doing a splendid job of changing the subject to something happier? "Why don't you show me around?" Rachel asked somewhat desperately, as he did seem to like his new home.

"Great idea," Kurt said and nearly bolted from his room.

He led her down the stairs and out the back door, with a call to the kitchen that they wouldn't be out long. Rachel sniffed the air and was pleased to smell no smoke. Instead she only caught the scent of pines, drying grass, and what she now recognized as Kurt himself. "So, um," she began awkwardly, "what do you... do?"

"Whatever I want," he said. "I'm going to try to plant things next summer. Maybe I'll start a beehive to help them along. And to make honey, of course." He sounded quite enthusiastic about that. "Um, we're going to need cabins eventually, but that probably won't come for a long time." Laughing a little awkwardly, Kurt finished, "I suppose I never have to be in a rush about anything." She smiled just as uncomfortably and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Rachel, let's just get things over with. Whatever you want to ask, ask. We'll get it out of our systems and then maybe we can actually enjoy your trip."

She knew it wasn't blanket permission, as it would be unspeakably cruel to ask about his owned time or that night on the road. But he really did sound like he wanted her to work through many of her lingering questions. "All right," she said after taking a moment to collect herself. "What was it like when you found out what was happening?"

Kurt laughed darkly. "Oh. _That_ day." One hand snaked over his shoulder to gesture at his back. "It hurt, like I'd sat against something wrong, and my muscles all felt... tight, I suppose? Like I'd been lifting heavy things. I kept rolling my shoulders to work through whatever was wrong. That didn't help, obviously." His eyes grew dull from the memories. "I finally gave up and went upstairs to ask Dad if he could see something. Maybe I really had hurt myself." He made the pantomime motion of shrugging his shirt down to mid-chest.

"What did he do?" Rachel asked when Kurt stayed silent for too long.

"The only time I'd heard that noise from him before," Kurt finally said, "was when my mom died."

"Were you scared?" she asked, somewhat needlessly.

"Incredibly," he said. His voice had a far-off edge to it; he was living in the past. "But he kept saying he'd find a way to fix it, and so I trusted him. We settled on just cutting them off and cauterizing the skin, so then I started being scared about that, too."

"Did it hurt?" Rachel practically squeaked. She felt like a complete fool, asking such obvious questions, but he'd actually lived with all of this. It felt as if she also had to be certain about what he'd gone through so she couldn't pretend it was easier than it was. She had to face the reality of his existence.

"I'm trying to decide how blunt to be," Kurt said after another bit of hesitation.

"Please don't hold back, if you can manage it." She dry-washed her hands. "The girl I was needs to hear this."

"Not for that reason," Kurt said with a hint of a smile. "I'm sure you hate that old girl you were as much as I hate that old boy. No, I was hesitating because I was deciding whether to go with the phrasing of 'in retrospect, it probably would have hurt less to castrate myself.'"

"Oh," Rachel said, blushing.

"In other words: yes, it _hurt._ When they feel good, they feel...." Trailing off, Kurt shrugged with a slightly dreamy cast to his lingering smile. That smile fell away when he continued, "And when they hurt, when they're sliced off or broken or anything... I didn't know it was possible to be in that much pain."

It didn't need to be said, but she wanted something to interrupt the silence. "But they came back."

"But they came back. And if I'd thought I was scared before...." Kurt trailed off again.

Somehow Rachel had the feeling that this time, she shouldn't prompt him to continue. She avoided the topic, instead. "What did it feel like to, um, change? I mean, past the wings."

"Oh God," he said and laughter returned. They set off walking through the trees again. "Weird. So weird. I probably weigh half as much as you. Or less! It's bizarre. Every day I'd look in the mirror and my face would be a little more different, the eyes looking back at me wouldn't be the ones I was used to... even my hair was shinier." He grumbled almost good-naturedly, "And you'd think someone would be happy about looking better. I mean, if you ignore everything awful that the world piles on top of you. Instead, I just kept thinking that wow, I must have started off _terribly_ if there was so much room for changes."

"No you didn't," she instantly said. He didn't look like he believed her, but appreciated the kind lie. Rachel decided not to push him and her mind turned instead toward immortality. "How does it feel to know that you'll...." Suddenly unsettled, Rachel's voice faltered as realized she had a very odd feeling for a teenager: a very real understanding that eventually, she would be dead. The person known as Rachel Berry would no longer exist. She would be still and quiet under the grass, or on someone's mantle, or floating on the wind.

She'd thought of dying before. Dying was very dramatic. People cared about you when you died. She'd never thought about _being dead_ , though. That her time was distinctly limited, that there was no going back.

"Hey," Kurt said, and she realized he'd come around in front of her. His hands were on her arms, squeezing gently. "What's wrong? You look... well, terrified is the only word for it."

"What's it like to die?" Rachel asked in a scratchy voice. He froze. Perhaps she shouldn't have asked that, but the words just came out. "No. I'm sorry. Never mind."

"I... it was...." Kurt swallowed hard.

"No, no, really. Never mind. I'm sorry, it was wrong to ask." Rachel stepped back; he let her arms slip from his hands. "Let's just finish our walk," Rachel said shakily. "It's a nice day, we'll go for a walk, and then we'll go back inside. I'd like to catch up with Finn after dinner, too."

"Sounds like a plan," Kurt agreed and they set off through the woods. With each step it was a little harder to restart their conversation, and eventually Rachel gave up on talking. His presence was overwhelming, the sight of his wings knotted her gut. By the time they turned around she wished very strongly that she'd never set foot on a plane.

* * *

"Hey," Finn said the next morning as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Rachel had been staring at a mug of black coffee for ten minutes as it cooled, without taking a sip. "You okay?"

"No," Rachel sighed as she pushed the mug to one side. "It's Kurt. I tried to talk to him yesterday and it just... I did all right back home, when everyone else was there. But when I visited him on my own, I froze up. And here, I tried to talk to him again... and I froze up. I asked him the most painful, inappropriate questions. Oh, Finn. This was a huge mistake."

"Pretty sure you couldn't do any worse than I did to him," Finn laughed as he rinsed out her abandoned cup. "And we're totally fine now. Getting finer by the day, even."

Rachel tilted her head. "What you did?"

"Oh, man," Finn said with dark humor. "Okay, I'm not going to go into things, but we had, uh, an argument not too long before he, um. Before he vanished. About... things."

The painfully obvious crush was the most likely candidate for that fight's fuel. She quirked an eyebrow and got a nod in return. Yes, then, that source.

"Then he came back. At first I was just so overwhelmed with feeling happy and relieved, you know?" Finn retrieved a few leftover strips of bacon and crammed them in his mouth. Kurt apparently stayed upstairs on some mornings so they could indulge in their favorite breakfast foods without sickening him. "Again, I'm not going to go into things, because he told me stuff in secret, but... but I heard some of the worst he went through. So then I was happy, relieved, angry, worried, protective... it was complicated," Finn finished.

"I was just relieved and guilty," Rachel said with a pained laugh. "It does sound like you had more to what you were feeling."

"Yeah. Um. About that." Finn ran a hand through his hair. To Rachel's surprise she realized he was actually blushing, a shell pink cast that promised an interesting conversation to come. "Eventually he started doing okay. Or he was more okay, at least. And then he let me look at the wings, and I just...." His head sank into his hands and he rested his elbows on the counter. "I didn't go crazy or anything, but all of a sudden he wasn't Kurt any more, he was _Kurt._ "

It took Rachel a moment to realize the implications of Finn's statement: that he found himself attracted to a boy he'd once turned down in an apparently spectacular argument. It wasn't really a surprise; after all, Finn had been one of the people in that choir room to talk about both male and female Angels. She remembered Kurt stating a preference one way, but also that he would happily ignore it for whatever Angel came up for sale. She was much the same, and Finn must be in their little club as well. "That must have been awkward," she finally replied. "What did he say when you told him?"

"Uh. It sort of, um." Finn's hand twirled around.

"Spiraled out of control?" Rachel guessed, and he pointed at her and snapped his fingers. "Finn, did the two of you... I don't mean to pry, but... did you and Kurt...?" It was a fortunate thing they'd split up during that summer. She couldn't imagine the temptation Finn would have felt, just as she would have. Anything they did together would have been tainted with an imagined third party lingering over them like Marley's Ghost.

"It was complicated," Finn repeated, as if the words could contain any number of offenses within them. "But kind of. Not really. I kissed him and he sort of told me to go to hell." Taking in Rachel's startled reaction, he laughed darkly. "Yeah. It wasn't what I expected. Look, the whole time he was there, I was trying to help _Kurt_ , not some random Angel. But I was never _into_ Kurt until he was one. So if I let things go too far, would that mean I was only doing it because of what he was now, and not who he is? That'd be a crappy thing to do. I mean, everyone else in the world acted like he wasn't a person any more." Finn slumped further onto the counter and shook his head. "But I guess I kind of acted like that anyway. I didn't mean to. I was trying to be nice. It felt like going as far as I wanted would have been really wrong, but I guess instead I should have gone further. And I can't believe I just told you all that."

Rachel fumbled for words for a while. Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick. If only she had her coffee, even cold as it was; the walls of her throat seemed to stick together. "Weren't you dating Santana during all of this?" she finally asked.

"It was all _really_ complicated," Finn mumbled. "Me and Kurt had another big argument. It sucked hard, but I guess it led to me coming here. So that worked out okay. Why am I telling you all of this? I just kept talking and talking and—"

Holding up her hand, Rachel managed to smile. "He is rather... um, now. Isn't he?"

"Totally um," Finn agreed, groaning. "And normally I don't care. He's just the guy I shove out of the way on the couch, or fight for the bathroom. But then sometimes... oh," he said knowingly. "Is that why you screwed up your questions around him? Were you all hot for my bro?" Finn asked with a wide grin.

"The two of us are in a wretched position, aren't we?" Rachel mourned. "Just awful. And not that I would dare even mention anything about this to Kurt, but at least he might still be attracted to _you._ "

A shadow—curiosity, confusion, and wariness—flitted over Finn's expression. "There's no way," he soon said. "Look, maybe we should be talking about something else. Anything else?"

She leapt gladly on that detour. "How am I supposed to make it through this week, Finn?" Rachel asked rather pathetically. "This house might be large, but I can't exactly avoid Kurt forever and not make it completely obvious. And if I'll spend all my time either staring at him or asking painful questions, well. I might as well just lock myself in my room and spend that time dreading my next flight. I'd rather be rude than humiliated."

"Kurt and I do stuff," Finn shrugged as he came around the counter and took a position on the next stool over. "You know... we do chores, explore the forest, take the dog for walks. Play video games. Watch movies. We don't just sit around and stare at each other. Maybe you should find something you want to do with him." Awkwardness immediately flooded the air between them, and no sooner had Finn said the words than he clarified, "Not that."

"Right," Rachel said. Heat covered her face like a mask. "All right. That's actually helpful, Finn. Thank you. I might as well go give it a try. Perhaps today can be an improvement over yesterday; I can only hope." She ran her hand lightly down his arm, brushing it for a silent thanks, and then gathered her strength and ascended the stairs. Kurt wasn't dancing that morning, and so he looked up from his bed when she knocked on the door. "Would you like to go for another walk?" Rachel asked hopefully.

"Sure," Kurt said gamely. He set aside his book, hopped up, and joined her at the door. "Shall we?" he asked gallantly, like some gentleman escorting a lady to a grand ball. Though her heart sped when he came near, Rachel tried to maintain a clear head. She'd been given a second chance to find friendship with Kurt in his new life; she didn't know if it would come yet again if she had to wait for day three. It was best not to waste it.

* * *

"More questions?" Kurt asked almost good-naturedly as they walked through thinning woods. The underbrush was leaner than she was used to from rare visits to forests back home. A relative's house backed up to a patch, and she and some cousins called themselves royalty as if they'd found their own private Terabithia. Then, after time in their forest kingdom, it was time to rejoin the adults at their party.

This kingdom need never end, Rachel thought as they walked free of the trees and found themselves on a broad, grassy hill. She'd understood what Finn meant about not wanting to acknowledge Kurt's changes, but at the same time, they were real and undeniable. He'd saved Finn's life through his own willpower made flesh. He might not truly live forever, but from her perspective it seemed near enough. And he was beautiful, Rachel finished. "I just have one question today," she finally replied when they'd stopped in the midst of a patch of wildflowers.

He steeled himself for it with a visible effort. "Ask away."

"Have you been singing at all? Really singing, I mean. Not along with your iPod. Not little video game bands, even though I'm sure that's been fun."

The question clearly startled Kurt. He'd likely prepared himself for a fresh trip through the horrors of his life. "Ah. Not really," he admitted. "I've been busy with everything, and I haven't really had an audience. Karaoke-style has been enough for now."

"Would you like to?" Rachel ventured, although she recognized that she was violating her one-question promise. With that wall breached, she walked gladly through and continued her prodding. "Not top 40, nothing like that. Something _proper_ for you. Broadway, a movie musical, something to that effect?"

He hesitated, and then—marvelously—a smile bloomed. Kurt looked almost impishly at the ground sloping away below their feet, and then up to the mountain peaks lining the far edge of the valley. "You know," he admitted like he was telling a secret that only she would understand, "when I looked up pictures of this place? The very first thing I thought was that it was The Sound of Music come to life, just for me."

Rachel reached out and clasped his hand. "Title song, or Climb Ev'ry Mountain?" Her eyes sparkled. "Or both, in order?"

"I like the way you think, Miss Rachel Berry," Kurt said lightly. He hummed a few notes to get a pitch, but when he took a deep breath and let out one perfect sound, she didn't join him. "You're not singing," he said with surprise.

"I... of course not," Rachel said, just as taken aback. "This is your moment. I wouldn't try for it." Before everything that had happened to him, she never would have backed down from a chance to sing. The past year had very nearly attacked her with a sense of perspective, though, and she didn't want to impose.

"Do you know how long it will be before I'm with another true Rodgers and Hammerstein fan?" Kurt asked. "Of course I'll start indoctrinating my sisters the second I have access to their vulnerable little eardrums, but still, that'll be years out." The light laughter that poured from Rachel put a smile on his face, and he nudged her shoulder. "Come on. Sing with me."

"Well, all right," she relented, and they hummed again to settle on their starting pitch. "The hills are alive," she began, and then impulsively flung her arms open wide like Maria, "with the sound of music." Their voices blended, leapt, and soared together. She twirled during the first verse, the better to match her outstretched arms, and felt herself fall into character.

Her attempts looked rather pathetic when they hit the line about a heart beating like the wings of birds and Kurt promptly arced his out and put her stance to shame. It was difficult to finish; she wanted to break out in a fit of giggles. "That was beautiful," she said when they did hit the last note together.

"Complimenting your own singing," he said with good humor and a pointedly popped eyebrow. "Why am I not surprised?"

Feeling comfortable with him like she hadn't all visit—or since he'd come back to Lima—Rachel pushed him a step back and laughed. "Oh, stop. You know very well I meant you. And, well, how we sounded together," she admitted.

"Knew it," he said.

"But really, Kurt," Rachel said more sincerely. "You sound beautiful. The changes aren't as marked—"

He cut her off, looking genuinely startled. "My _voice_ changed, too? Oh my God, it just never stops."

"Not much!" she reassured him. "It's... if you were a brass bell before, now you're crystal. Does that make sense? At all? And I loved singing with you, either way. Not that we got as much chance as we really should have, before everything."

"Mmmhmm. I'm trying to figure out what a 'brass bell voice' would be," Kurt replied dryly.

All right, so that metaphor was a flop. "Then... like your eyes, before and after?" Rachel suggested. They'd clarified, intensified: she thought that comparison was perfect.

"I get the idea," he said. "Stop, stop. You know, I'm pretty sure I stopped changing quite a while ago. But no one noticed my voice before now." His lips quirked into a tiny smile. "I suppose it's appropriate that you were the one to hear it."

The way he put that made her feel like she held some important, unique place in his life beyond "fellow lover of the slave trade." It sent a delicious shiver down her spine, and Rachel felt more old worries vanish. "Well, we did plan another song that we've yet to tackle," Rachel pointed out. "Let's pay more attention this time, all right?"

He didn't twitch out his wings for Climb Ev'ry Mountain, but Kurt did get a look of resigned humor every time they sang "for as long as you live." Other than those lines, it was pure, unquestioned beauty. Their voices landed delicately among the wildflowers and soared into the sky. This time, when the last note ended, he pulled her in for a hug. "Thank you," he whispered. "It did feel good to sing like this."

"Well, then, you should clearly do it more often," Rachel said with a firm hug back. He still smelled better than any flower on the hillside, but at least acknowledging that didn't make her want to crumple from guilt.

After a moment longer, Kurt pulled back. "All right," he said with a visible effort to steel himself. "Any more questions? Ask away."

There was really no use dwelling on the past, Rachel thought. Not when trying to get rid of her guilt had only hurt him more, and trying to move forward just now had actually made the two of them smile. "I do have a question," she decided. Though he tensed just a bit, Kurt soon relaxed when Rachel continued, "What does it feel like to fly?"

His smile returned, broader than before. "You know, Mercedes asked me the same thing. Funny," Kurt said with a put-on, haughty air. "It's like you've never done it before."

"Does a plane count?"

"No," Kurt said, still playing up his superiority. He then flicked one wing in front of him and groomed it, looking for all the world like a cat ignoring its lessers. She couldn't help but giggle. More than that, though, was the amazement that he was actually treating one of his changes as a complete, unquestioned positive. He must really adore it. Finally he moved past his little show, refolded himself, and admitted with a dreamy smile, "It's amazing. Since I've lost so much weight I can really just... the dives and banking and... wow. It's incredibly hard to communicate what it feels like," he said.

"Good?" Rachel offered.

"So good," Kurt agreed, and kept trying with gestures and loose descriptions at the sky. Eventually they settled onto the hillside to pick out characters in clouds, and let midday pass by like that. They sang more, they sat in silence, they talked about future siblings on the way. "So, where are you thinking about going to college?" Kurt asked in the middle of one of those long, comfortable silences.

Rachel jerked back up to a sitting position. Old guilt returned. "I don't... I mean, I haven't...."

"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked," Kurt said. "And besides... no matter where you go, it's not like you can't visit. Right?"

"Right," Rachel said softly.

"I told Mercedes the same thing, Rachel. I don't resent you going out there and living, okay? In fact I want you to live huge, important lives that affect so many people, because you are the good guys." He rolled on his side and propped his head on his hand. "All right? Promise me that."

"I promise," Rachel said after swallowing down the lump in her throat. She _would_. She would fight for people like she'd said, she'd win those cases, and she'd bring justice to as much of the world as she could manage. "Well, ah, I've been looking at quite a lot of schools...."

* * *

Each day was a little more comfortable. She didn't spend them all with Kurt. More than one was with Finn, where they drove to a lakeshore beach or he good-naturedly kept quiet while she browsed local boutiques. "I'll catch you back here in a few, okay?" Finn said during that shopping day. "Stay here, I won't be too long."

Rachel nodded, shrugged, and went back to browsing the selections from local artists. She settled on a small lithograph of the mountains. She could already see it in some high-powered woman's office, years in the future: she would have her career protecting people outside, while inside those mountains a refuge would grow. With her purchase in hand, she kept poking idly through the store until Finn returned with a bag.

"Sports shop," he said for an explanation and she thought nothing more of it.

Near the end of her visit, his unexplained shopping expedition suddenly made sense. "You don't have to if you don't want to," Kurt said as he pulled something from that bag, "but I realized something. If you want to try flying, I might be able to show you."

Rachel swallowed hard and stared at the harness in his hand. Finn had picked up a complete set of rock-climbing gear. In that bag was everything needed to bind her as securely to Kurt as a climber would be to a sheer rock face. "Oh?" she croaked.

"It'll be awkward," he admitted. "And I don't know how much we'll weigh together, but I was able to fly before many of the changes had really kicked off. There's a chance, at least. I doubt I could do it with anyone who's not as tiny as you, but if you want to give it a shot...?"

She would be wrapped around Kurt hundreds of feet in the air, with no one but the open sky around them. And he would be _there_ , overwhelming her with each breath she took. Oh, it would be so much easier if she didn't respond to Angels as strongly, like Mercedes. But how could she possibly turn this down? How could she possibly ignore what an expression of trust and intimacy this was? "I'm a little scared, but I'd love to."

Kurt beamed at her. Given her concerns about responding to him, that affection did little to ease her nerves.

Soon they were outside with harnesses securely in place. "I was expecting something around my chest," Kurt admitted as he plucked uncomfortably at the bands around his upper thighs. "But if this is what they do for security, then I suppose it works."

"Yes," Rachel said as Carole checked her closures. "Yes. Security is very important. Whatever is safe is good. Do my fathers know about this?"

"Of course I called them," Carole said, sounding a little offended at the question. "I'm not going to send some other family's child a hundred feet into the air without asking the parents first. We went through all the safety measures, and they said if you wanted to do it, it was all right."

"Well, then," Rachel said as a sturdy nylon rope clipped together the harnesses over her and Kurt's groins. She swallowed; he looked amused. Oh, damn him, he _knew_ what he did to her and he thought it was funny! "Time to... to fly, then."

"I won't drop you," Kurt promised quietly as he tugged her close. His arms wrapped warmly around her and then he moved forward his wings to cocoon them both. Rachel nearly stopped breathing with those huge, glorious feathers around her, and when they retreated she still felt dizzy. "I promise, I won't drop you."

How had they _possibly_ reached this point, where he wanted to know about the life she'd lead that he could never have? Where she noticed something that everyone else had overlooked, where they managed to stop focusing on the horrors of the world and found joy together? It couldn't be as simple as singing. Maybe it really was just as simple as looking forward and trying to find the best path with their new lives. She couldn't make up for the past, but she'd do better in the future. She wouldn't drop him, either.

Kurt gave her a curious look and Rachel realized she'd said that out loud. "Let's fly," she said, and he nodded.

"One, two...."

She tensed. Her hands clutched the shirt between his wings and held on tightly.

"Three," he said just before they launched into the sky. It was hard not to scream like she was on a rollercoaster; the only thing holding her back was the knowledge that she'd do so right in his ear. Powerful muscles moved in a strong, sure rhythm under her hands. They matched the rushing beat of the wings, which were soon the only noise Rachel could hear.

"Oh," she finally squeaked when she looked down and saw that they were already hundreds of feet up. "This is high."

"Too high?" he asked. His hands splayed against her back.

After a moment of consideration she shook her head. Not yet, anyway, although it was already very windy. They weren't static in the air; he slid between currents like birds she'd seen maneuvering through storms. She was glad she'd tied back her hair.

"I won't drop you," Kurt promised and she tried to believe him. When he dove into a gentle arc it was too much, and Rachel wrapped her legs around his waist before she could help it. The rope between the harnesses was suddenly insufficient. He laughed and then actually spun them in the air. If her adrenaline weren't kicking in and making her want to laugh with delight, she'd kill him.

They dove, they soared, they saw over mountain peaks into the range beyond. Slivers of Rachel's mind, still clinging to logical thought even as she danced through the air, wondered if anyone else on the planet had felt this. Even if they had, it wouldn't _really_ be the same; it would be with a slave. Flying with a free Angel was the difference between gliding through the air under the power of his wings or rising from the Denver airport in a loud, noisy box. It could _never_ be the same.

"I can't decide if I want to stop or not," Rachel said. Her fingers clung so fiercely to his shirt that she could barely feel them.

"Are you all right? I can probably push myself a lot farther than you can, and for all I know I'm able to breathe thinner air—"

It was more important to forestall any more aerial tricks than to be polite, so Rachel interrupted him. "I'm fine, and this is absolutely magical, but I am a little worried that I might, ah, vomit."

Kurt stared at where her chin was nestled against his shoulder, looked horrified, and promptly said, "And we're done, then."

"Go slow," Rachel squeaked when he began to drop straight down and her stomach seemed to slam against the roof of her mouth. She didn't know whether to feel more relief or sadness when the flight ended and Kurt unclipped them. Being on the ground felt simultaneously secure and limiting. "Thank you," she said as she pulled free her hair tie. Flyaways ringed her face like some crazy halo. "I don't think I deserved that, but thank you."

"Whatever we get from what we're doing," Kurt said with quiet sincerity, "we'll earn it. We'll deserve it. All right? Those old people we were deserved _nothing._ But we're not them. Not any more. We can't let them pull us down forever or we'll never move forward, and there's so much to be done."

"As soon as I've saved up the money," Rachel said with an impulsive hug, "I'm coming back. Maybe it'll be my spring break, all right?"

"I'll look forward to it," Kurt said. "Although you would be around tiny, crying babies."

"Maybe it'll be my summer vacation," Rachel said, although it would be hardly better on that count. He laughed and helped her unclip all the buckles on her harness, but knew better than to ask for the same courtesy. Yes, he knew perfectly well what she felt around him, but as with everything else: what was to be done? They might as well just move forward.

Perhaps Finn would have different stories to tell about him and Kurt the next time he picked her up, Rachel thought with amusement as she looked over the house on her last evening there. Or perhaps they would stay family in the most traditional sense of the word. Who knew? The future was full of potential in a thousand different shapes. "Remember to sing, all right?" she said to Kurt when they said their goodnights.

"Let me know when you settle on a date," he said. "I'll pick out songs for you to learn beforehand."

She smiled and he joined her. Then Rachel walked to her room, settled in, and dreamed about years to come.


End file.
